


In good times and bad times

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: BAMF Q, Eve is the best friend ever, Hurt/Comfort, James is a bit of a dickhead, M/M, Post-SPECTRE, SPECTRE Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 01:01:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6401557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A career ending injury destroys the friendship between Bond and Q, and Q thinks he will never see him again. But a second chance for Bond offers them a bridge back to trust, and a way to fight their common enemies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As the doors slid shut behind Bond and the DB5, Q stood for a while, not thinking about much except that this had been the last time he would probably see 007. The force of nature who had dominated Q’s world, and Q-Branch, for four years, was gone.

He walked back to his desk and sat down, wondering if he should go home. He had worked through the night, and had had less than twelve hours sleep the previous week. He wasn’t running on fumes any more, he was now down to the memory of fumes, and only tea by the gallon was keeping him upright. Doubtless that explained the depression that now settled over him, and the utterly ridiculous hope that those big doors would open again, and Bond would be there with the Aston Martin, declaring it was all an April Fool’s joke and how could anyone believe he would throw in his job—again—for a pretty woman nearly half his age. Again.

It wasn’t April first. And there was not a hope in hell Bond hadn’t run off to spend the rest of his life shagging his brains out, probably on the bonnet of the car Q had spent so many hours rebuilding.

Q hoped he would at least not dent the metal work.

He sighed and drank his still warm tea. He was literally too tired to go home now, and there was still so much to do cleaning up the messes left behind by Denbigh and the organisation behind him. Since that organization still existed and its reach was as yet unknown, Q could count on being worked off his skinny arse for quite a few weeks to come. And without one of MI6’s sharpest agents to help.

He rested his forehead on his desk. A micronap was all he could afford to take now. Then he had to contact his people and coax them back into the department. He hoped like hell they hadn’t already got other jobs. That might be awkward, to say the least.

His mobile’s ringer woke him. He groped for it on his desk, realising as he did so that he’d been napping for nearly an hour. “Q here.”

“It’s Eve. Bond is being airlifted to Medical. M thought you’d want to know. He’s asked you to come over here.”

Q straightened up, fully and painfully awake. “What happened?”

“Dr Swann called it in. He collapsed while driving. Head injury.”

“What? He was fine when he left here.”

“You saw him?”

“An hour ago. Fifty-three minutes ago, actually. He looked....” _Fucking fantastic_. “Normal.”

“Better get yourself over to Medical. I’m heading there now.”

 _Christ_.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Central London was still in lockdown after the destruction of the old headquarters at Vauxhall, so Q had to walk across the bridge and argue with the police blocking anyone entering the exclusion zone. Showing his credentials didn’t work. A call from M did, eventually. Q was a little surprised Medical was still operating given the chaos of the previous night, but at least their building hadn’t been blown to bits. There were fewer staff than normal around the place, but at least as many security guards as usual. Tanner met him at the foyer.

“What’s going on. Bill?”

“Bond is just being taken into surgery. Subdural haematoma, they said. Something to do with several blows to the head and having two holes drilled into it which we didn’t know about.”

“What the hell?” Q stopped. “Who?”

“Blofeld. Madeleine Swann has given us the details. Blofeld was trying to turn him into a vegetable. Looks like he might have succeeded.”

“Shit.”

“My thought exactly.”

M and Eve met them at the main entrance to Medical. Both looked somewhat less sharp and well groomed than usual, but they’d had as little sleep as Q over the last week, and Q doubted Mallory had even had the benefit of an hour’s nap.

“Thank you for coming, Q.”

“No problem sir. I was still in Q-Branch.”

Eve gave Q a tired little smile. “James seems to enjoy keeping us from our beds.”

“Usually he’s trying to do the opposite,” Q said without thinking, then flushed when Eve wagged her finger at him. Of course, Bond had taken _her_ to bed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Take over for me for a few hours,” Mallory said, “while Bill and I handle some other matters. Eve will stay here.”

“Sir. Is Bond even still an agent, technically?”

Mallory frowned at Q. “Does it matter? His injuries were caused in the service of Queen and country even if the bloody country doesn’t appreciate it.”

“No, sir, I meant...would he not be better treated in St Thomas’s?”

“Oh. Well, his resignation hasn’t been officially tendered and while the double-oh program was suspended at Denbigh’s instigation, we believe that will be rescinded. Anyway, this seemed the best option. We have a top neurosurgeon working on him.” Mallory wiped his face. “This is the last thing I thought we’d be dealing with today.”

Eve touched her boss’s arm. “Sir, Q and I will keep watch.”

“Thank you, Moneypenny. I know you two are exhausted. I just can’t trust anyone else right now.”

“Go on,” Q said. “Send tea.”

Bill grinned. “That, we can do. Sir?”

He and Mallory walked off. Eve looked at Q. “Dr Swann is waiting here.”

“Does she expect us to hold her hand or does she imagine Bond will still be able to sweep her away in a sports car for a legendary fucking?”

“That’s pretty harsh, Q.”

“But completely accurate. I suppose I’d better speak to her. Where is she?”

“Through here.”

Eve led the way to the waiting room, still frowning a little at Q’s remark. He really didn’t care. How was it possible that a medical doctor could ‘forget’ to mention to _someone_ that the man she was with had had _holes_ drilled into his head?

Madeleine Swann could never not look beautiful, Q supposed, but did anyone have any right to look this pretty and composed at this hour of the morning? “How is he? Can I see him?”

“He’s still in surgery. We won’t know a thing until he’s out, and probably not for some time after that. You should go home, Dr Swann.”

“I...don’t have anywhere...James was going to take me somewhere today.” She put her pretty face in her hands. “I couldn’t help him. One minute he was driving and chatting, next his words started to slur and he weaved off the road. I didn’t know what to do for him.”

“Then what is the point of you?” Eve gasped a little at Q’s words, and Madeleine’s head snapped up. “Well? You’re a doctor. You didn’t recognise he was injured?”

“He seemed fine. He was knocked out by Blofeld’s men—”

“And Blofeld added some ventilation to his skull that he hadn’t had before. Yet you didn’t see fit to mention this to any of us?”

“There wasn’t _time—_ ”

“But there was time for a fuck, wasn’t there? Last night? You and he went off for hours alone, and he only re-appeared this morning to ask for the Aston Martin. You didn’t even bother to look at his pupils?”

Madeleine stood up. “What are _your_ qualifications, Mr Q?”

“My qualifications are that I’ve been keep that stupid sod alive for four years, and gave a flying fuck that he survived. Yours seem to be nothing more than a pretty face and round heels.”

Eve tugged at his arm. “Q, that’s enough.”

“No, it’s not. You think you’re special, doctor, because you’ve shagged the great James Bond. You’re not even the only beautiful woman in this room to do that, but unlike you, Miss Moneypenny has risked her life and her career to help the pair of you and to defeat Blofeld. She wouldn’t throw her hands up in the air and whimper if Bond was injured in her presence. She wouldn’t whine about not being able to help. She would just be bloody helping him.”

Madeleine had gone white. “I never asked for him to crash into my life.”

“No one does. But you accepted him there, he made you part of the exclusive circle of people he trusts, and you let him down. Now he could be dying for all I know. Why the hell are you here at all?”

“I love him,” she said, voice ice cold.

“Good for you. We all do. And?”

“And he asked me to go away with him.”

Q shook his head in disgust. “Terrific. I’d have given it a week if this hadn’t happened. You don’t know him. You know he’s good in bed, and brave, and more than a little insane. But you don’t know _him_. How can you love someone you don’t care enough to care for?”

“Dr Swann, we’ll arrange accommodation,” Eve said, stepping in front of Q and cutting him off. “Come with me, please.”

“No, James would want me here.”

“James won’t even remember your name, you stupid woman,” Q snapped. “If he remembers a bloody thing at all.”

Eve turned and glared at Q. “Back off.” She turned back to the other woman. “Please, Dr Swann?”

Madeleine let Eve take her arm and lead her to the doorway, where a young man stood there, his face frozen in shock. Tiredness and anger made Q less polite than his wont. “What do you want?”

“Sir, Mr Tanner sent tea?”

“Oh. Right. Bring it in. I’ll speak to you later, Miss Moneypenny.”

“You bet you will,” Eve muttered, shooing Madeleine through the door. The young messenger gave a mug of tea to Q, then ran out without waiting for thanks or other orders.

Q slumped into one of the armchairs. Well, that had been a nice display. He shouldn’t talk to people when he was on the verge of paranoid hysteria from lack of sleep. He sipped his tea. Somehow he doubted it would give him enough energy to get through the next five minutes, let alone the next five hours.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Two hours later, Q woke out of a light doze when he heard someone come into the waiting area. “Sir?”

He pulled his glasses down over his eyes. “Yes?”

“Mr Morris, the neurosurgeon, wants to brief you on 007’s condition.”

Q got to his feet and followed the woman out. Eve hadn’t returned, or if she had, hadn’t woken him. He doubted she was back yet. Madeleine Swann probably needed placating. M would almost certainly hear about his little temper tantrum. It was the least of his worries right at this moment.

Mr Morris met him outside the ICU, at the nurses’ station. “He’ll live,” Morris said. “There was a subacute subdural haematoma affecting the right temporal lobe and parietal, and two other smaller areas of haemorrhage over what I’ve been told was the result of torture in the last three days.”

“Prognosis?”

“Good, though there may be some deficits. Memory could be affected, both in accessing existing ones and in forming new ones. Speech, recognition, writing can all be affected, and there are often personality changes. There could be some left-sided motor control issues too.”

Q stared. Everything the doctor described would be the end of Bond’s career as any kind of agent, let alone as a double-oh. “Cure? Treatment?”

“There is no cure as such. There’s rehabilitation, of course, and the sooner started the better. He’s an older man in good condition, but I understand he has an alcohol addiction? That won’t help his recovery.”

“Right. Thank you,” Q said, meaning the opposite.

“I’ll be getting home then. I have rounds later this morning.” He gave Q a weary smile. “And I won’t even be able to tell people why I’m knackered.”

Q thanked him again and handed him off to those who dealt with visiting surgeons. He pulled out his phone and sent M and Tanner a report. Only then did it occur to him to ask if he could visit Bond.

“Not yet,” was the answer from the senior nurse on duty. Bond was sedated and on ventilation to help him heal.

“Fine,” Q said. Not that he would know what to say to a former agent who had gone from perfectly fit to possibly disabled in a matter of hours. Perhaps there was a formula for such things, a little speech M could give to say, “Sorry, your life’s been ruined, 007, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

He was about to head upstairs to M’s office to see if there was any fire-fighting he needed to do before his boss returned, but Eve met him at the door of Medical. She grabbed his elbow. “You’re coming with me.”

“I have work to do.”

“You have tea to drink, breakfast to eat and a conversation to have with me first, young man.”

“Eve Moneypenny, I am not a ‘young man’.” Though she was four years older than him. Didn’t look it, though.

She steered him towards the lifts. “Shut up, Q.”

Her destination was the canteen, in light operation mode because of the low staff count. Eve pulled rank and asked for two full English breakfasts and a pot of coffee to be brought to their table. “You promised me tea,” Q complained.

“Later. Right now, coffee is all that stands between you and a bloody good smack. What on earth was all that about earlier? ‘We all love James bond’? For heaven's sake.”

“I didn’t mean _love_ love, Eve.”

“I hope not. And what was that, telling her he and I shagged? That’s off the record!”

“I’m sorry.” And he was. “I was just angry at her...her....”

“What?”

“Ownership.” Eve raised an eyebrow at him. “I let him take the DB5. It was for _him_. And she let him crash it. She let _him_ crash.”

“Wow. That’s some crush.”

“On her?”

“On Bond,” she said dryly. “He doesn’t go for men.”

“And I do not have a bloody crush,” Q retorted. “But we worked together. We nearly died together. We’re a team. We brought down Denbigh, all of us. All _she_ did was pout and look beautiful, but who was the one he ran off with?”

“Funny, I used to think you had hazel eyes.”

“What?”

“They’re looking green right now.”

“Piss off, Moneypenny. Where’s this bloody food?”

“Coming. What did the doctors say?”

“Nothing good. He’ll live. Knowing Bond, he won’t thank anyone for that.” He showed her the report he’d sent M, because the idea of telling it all over made his stomach hurt.

“Bloody hell.”

“Yes.” Their food and coffee had arrived. Strangely, Q didn’t feel like eating it.

“Sounds like it was the concussion that did the damage, not the holes.”

“The holes didn’t help.”

“It wasn’t her fault, Q.”

“Are you honestly telling me she did all she could, knowing his condition and what he’d been through?”

Eve pursed her lips. “She’s been through a lot.”

“She’s Mr White’s daughter. She’s not some blushing schoolgirl. Bond can sure pick them.”

“Meaning?”

“Settle down. I didn’t mean you. I was thinking of that Lynd woman. The crooked agent. And now this...this...female.”

“Miaow.”

“Yes, it was a bit catty.” Q stabbed a mushroom. “I’m too tired for anything better. I’m too tired full stop.”

“Me too.” She put her hand on his. “M will be back in an hour. Then we can go home for a bit and catch some kip. There’s a lot to do but we can’t do it if we’re dead on our feet.”

“Literally if I don’t sleep soon.” He made himself eat the mushroom and some bacon. He nibbled at the toast just to take the edge off the coffee he forced himself to drink. “Ugh.”

“It’s bad, I know. Bond hasn’t got any family, Q. Dr Swann might be all he has now.”

“Bollocks. He has us.”

“You think we’re his _friends_?”

“You see anyone else who qualifies?”

“We’re his co-workers. God knows I’ve had to sit through enough rants about him from you, M, and Tanner in the last couple of years.”

“You’ve ranted a bit. But who did he trust last night?”

She shook his head. “He’ll need a lot of time and help, probably in a care home.”

“Better to shoot him now.”

“Yeah.”

And Q knew she wasn’t joking.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

True to his word, Mallory was back precisely an hour later, and told Q and Eve to go home until the following morning. Q protested. “Sir, the network.”

“Is safe, and if I need you to, you can manage any problems remotely, correct?”

“Yes, but—”

“No ‘buts’, Q. Tanner has drawn my attention to just how little sleep you two have had, and that makes you more dangerous than helpful.” Mallory smiled to take the insult out of his words. “Go home, sleep. Take pills to do so if you have to. Because when you return, I will need you at full strength, the pair of you.”

“Sir. My people?”

“Already being contacted. They’ll be here when you return.”

“What about Bond, sir?” Eve asked.

“We’re sending him immediately to an MoD medical facility specialising in injured soldiers, and from there, once assessed, he’ll go to a rehabilitation centre which deals with neurological injuries. We simply can’t give him the expert care he needs right now, and with SPECTRE still active, he’ll be safer away from the obvious locations.”

“And Dr Swann?” Q asked.

“Ah, yes. She can stay where she is for now. Miss Moneypenny, that’s something for you to handle. Something else,” he added wryly. “Not our top priority right this moment.”

“No, sir. She’ll want to see Bond.”

“Too bad.” Mallory’s customary politeness was worn out by exhaustion and perhaps irritation at Swann herself. “I’m going home shortly too. Tanner will be here until three, and then one of his staff will have to hold the fort. Since we’re technically supposed to be excess to requirements, let the bloody minister sort out any messes until then.”

Q and Eve grinned back, just as angry at their treatment as M was. “Is that all?”

“Yes. And thank you. You deserve to be bloody knighted, the pair of you.”

“A card from the Queen would be nice,” Eve said.

“I’ll see what I can do. Good day.”

They went down to the car pool together. “I was hoping we could see him,” Eve said.

“I suspect 007 would prefer it this way. Not showing his weaknesses.”

“I doubt he’ll be able to hide them completely. See you tomorrow, Q.” She kissed his cheek. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Despite fatigue so intense Q literally felt nauseated from it, he wondered if he would actually sleep with all the worries he had in his brain. In fact he didn’t even remember hitting his mattress, and though he woke a couple of times for his bladder to remove some of the tea on which he’d been surviving, he slept until eight the following morning. Far later than his usual habit, but he doubted somehow that M would tell him off for being late to work. He took the time to shower, change, feed the cats by hand and fill their automated feeder, apologise to the cats for being a bad daddy, pack an overnight back with two changes of clothing, and pick up breakfast and supplies for two meals. He foresaw another marathon session at Q-Branch, and wanted to be prepared.

He spared a thought for Bond, probably already gone to the military facility. Would Mallory tell Madeleine Swann? Would Bond want her told? And would he want visitors? What about his flat? The poor sod had only just moved again to an apartment in Chelsea because a woman who’d suddenly become notorious in a sex scandal in the same building had been compromised his previous location. Bond had remarked a few months back that it wasn’t worth him buying another place after his last one was sold because of his ‘death’. What would happen to his possessions—the ones he’d acquired after his resurrection?

Mallory would probably ask Eve to help. Given how much work they all had ahead of them, Bond’s flat, like Bond’s woman, would be low priority. So long as they didn’t evict him until he came home. If he came home.

Q shivered again, and it was nothing to do with the chill winter air. He couldn’t imagine a permanently impaired James Bond. The man had more lives than a cat, and the kind of reckless disregard that scared even other agents. The kind of reckless disregard that had finally brought him to a sudden and permanent halt, apparently.

Q’s phone rang, and in answering it and his staff member’s question, he took his mind off 007 and put it firmly onto problems he had to deal with right now. James Bond was in the hands of strangers again, but at least this time, they weren’t the enemy.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Three months later, Eve came down to Q-Branch to have tea with Q. It had become a weekly Friday afternoon custom now Q-Branch had moved back to headquarters. After the Nine Eyes mess, the loss of a double-oh agent, and the way Q, Eve, Tanner and Mallory had fought like cornered wolves to preserve the department and restore the double-oh program, relations had thawed considerably between Q-Branch and the administration. Q had had more cooperation from other departments in those three months than he’d had in the previous three years, and his people had never worked harder or more willingly to help the double-ohs well beyond their stated remit.

Eve’s visits were a signal to them that Mallory was well pleased, and it also made it easier for Q to get them to knock off on time for the weekend if at all possible. He wanted them in peak condition for the next dire threat—and there always would be another, if not from SPECTRE, then from the next organisation or movement with an agenda that threatened the United Kingdom. Q had been not so subtly reinforcing and adding to his team, and encouraging good relations with all the agents, double-ohs or not. He often wondered how Bond would have dealt with it all. He often wished he could see it happen.

Eve waved a packet of digestives around like a victory flag as she walked in. “Good woman. Kettle’s boiling.”

Eve flung herself onto the sofa. “Got some scotch to go with it?”

“In Early Grey tea? You must be joking.”

“Not today, darling. Bond’s coming back to London.”

“Really? That’s good news, surely.” Q got up to make the pot of tea—no tea bags on Friday afternoon, he’d decided weeks ago.

“Maybe, maybe not. He wants to come back to the double-oh programme.”

“Oh.” Q concentrated on adding the correct amount of tea to the pot. “Is he fit?”

“He’s being assessed already. But the reports from his therapists indicate...not.”

Q covered the pot with the tea cosy and turned around. “Bugger.”

“Yeah. And M, bless him, doesn’t want to be the one to tell him he can’t come back as an agent. He will, of course. He just hates to be that cruel.”

“Bond was going to quit anyway. With Madeleine Swann.” Who had gone back to Switzerland and been offered a place in a witness protection programme if she wanted one. Q didn’t know what she’d decided. It wasn’t of any interest to him.

“You said it yourself, they would have lasted a week. Bond probably knew that, whatever lies he told himself—and her. Q, this will break him.”

Q brought over the tray, and set about pouring the tea, while Eve put some biscuits on the plates. “Yes. But what can we do?” Guiltily he remembered that no one from the division had visited Bond while he was undergoing rehab. A card and flowers had been sent, but really, it was hardly enough for someone who had risked so much, so often, in the service of the Crown.

“I don’t know. M doesn’t know either. Other agents have accepted desk jobs but....”

“None of them were James Bond.”

“Exactly.” She sipped her tea. “Even damaged, he’s likely to be still lethal. To himself and anyone who interferes.”

“And then M will have to....”

“That’s what he’s afraid of. So am I.” She looked down at the cup in her hands.

“You care for him.”

“Of course. Not like _that_ , you plonker. But you were right. We are friends. I miss him, like I’d miss you. But I don’t _know_ him. And I doubt he’ll ever give anyone the chance now to do that.”

Q considered she was completely correct, but he had nothing to suggest. “When will he be here?”

“Tomorrow. M thought it might be easier if there weren’t so many people about.”

“Will you be here?”

“Yes. You?”

“Yes. God, what a mess.”

“Now you know why I wanted the scotch.”

“Now I wish I had some so I could join you.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Even on a Saturday—which was a working day for Q-Branch though only at half-strength—Q had plenty to occupy himself. He worked diligently, but couldn’t deny he had half an ear on his phone’s alerts all day, waiting for Eve to let him know Bond had arrived and gone in to see Mallory. Finally, at four, she texted. Q scooted out of his chair immediately and ran to the lift.

He needn’t have rushed, as it turned out—Bond was still talking to M. “Any word?” Q whispered.

“Nothing. No yelling either. Head’s up.” She composed herself, and Q carefully stood at her desk as if he was talking to her about paperwork. The door opened.

“Oh, hello Bond,” Q said. “Very glad to see you up and around.”

Bond gave Q one of his humourless, thin-lipped smiles. “I wouldn’t get used to it. Moneypenny, M wants to see you. Q,” he added by way of farewell.

Q ran after the man, whose mobility at least didn’t seem affected. “Wait up, Bond. Perhaps you’d like to have supper? Or afternoon tea?”

“What I need now is a fucking drink.”

“Want company?”

Bond stopped, turned and growled. “Knock it off. You know what he said. You always called me 0...0....”

“Seven,” Q supplied, before realising his mistake.

Bond sneered and stalked off. Q refused to be put off, especially now he’d been caught out snooping. “Bond...James....”

Bond slammed his hand at the lift control, and the doors opened immediately. Q slid in after him, and Bond didn’t stop him, although he also didn’t acknowledge him.

“Do you have a car at the moment?”

Wrong question. Bond’s look was poisonous. _Oops_. “Um, I know a place and I can order us a car.”

“Why?”

“Because...I’m your friend.”

Bond’s lip curled. “Try again.”

“I _am_ your friend. So is Eve. We want to help!”

The lift doors opened. Bond stepped out, pressing the door control as he left. “Then give me a gun so I can shoot myself.”

Q yelped as the doors started to close, but pushed them open again. “Bond. Stop! That’s an order!”

Bond raised his middle finger without even turning around. Q’s only chance of sticking with him was to...well, stick with him. He caught up with him at the carpool. “Bond, please. I just want to talk to you.”

“Three _months_!” Bond spat.

“I know. I’m so sorry, but it’s been insane here. Please. I’ll buy you that drink if you need one.”

Bond stopped. “Don’t make me talk.”

“I won’t.” Relieved, Q went to the car pool controller and asked for a driver for the evening, giving the directions for a pub close to his house in East Sheen that he rather liked. He didn’t know where Bond was staying but that could be sorted out later.

Bond didn’t speak as they drove to the pub, and only said, “Double Lagavulin” when Q asked what he wanted to drink. The pub wasn’t yet too busy for a late Saturday afternoon, though the big screen television was showing a football match. Bond kept his eyes on the TV most of the time, occasionally checking the room as someone new walked in. He didn’t look at Q once. Q sipped his beer and reflected that this had been one of his more spectacularly bad ideas. Only guilt, innate stubbornness, and the fact Bond hadn’t walked out kept him in his seat for the next three hours as Bond slowly drank two more scotches, and Q two more pints.

But enough was enough. After he came back from the loo, he didn’t sit down again. “Okay, I’m hungry. We could eat here, get a takeaway and eat and my place, or you could go home and sort yourself out.”

Bond finally looked at him. “Your place.”

Q raised his eyebrows in surprise. Frankly, that had been the option he’d picked as least likely. “Right. Good. Well, come along. We have several options. Do you like Chinese?”

A grunt could be taken either way, he supposed. He settled on fish and chips in the end, figuring Bond would probably sneer at what passed for foreign food here in England, but a good chippy was nothing to be ashamed of.

He called the driver and sent him home for the night. He could order another car for Bond when he was ready, and Q’s place was walking distance. Bond didn’t offer to carry the food when Q picked it up. By now, Q’s annoyance was fast overcoming his guilt, and once they had eaten, he planned to ask Bond to push off. He hadn’t signed up to be treated like shit just because Bond was cranky over no longer being a double-oh. _Q_ hadn’t hit him in the head, after all.

He let them into the house, immediately being ambushed by Effie and Tansy. “Do you mind if I feed my cats first?”

“Go ahead.” Bond threw himself down onto an armchair, looking as bored as he had all evening.

Q dumped the food parcels on the counter and spent more time than he needed to cuddling his cats and talking nonsense to them. At least _they_ weren’t ignoring him.

He locked them in the second bedroom, leaving a window open so they could come and go as they pleased. “Right, that’s them sorted. Do you want to eat on the couch or at the table? I don’t have any scotch, but there’s a bottle of white wine.”

No answer, until a hand on his waist made him jump. “I’m not actually hungry,” Boned growled behind his ear.

Stiff with fear, Q turned around. “Er...then what do you want?”

Bond removed Q’s glasses and put them on the counter, then took Q’s head in his hands, and kissed him. And not tentatively, not seeking permission. He plundered Q’s mouth without the smallest quarter, not permitting any objection. Not that Q felt like objecting.

Bond’s hands were at his waist, undoing his belt. “Wait! I...have a bed.”

Bond took his hand and dragged him along. Q pointed. “That door.” Bond pushed it open and shoved Q through it.

“On the bed then.” Bond’s eyes were hard and cold, his mouth a brutal line. Q swallowed. “Get undressed.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Bond took over his coat. Q hung up his gun and holster, stripped off his jacket and tie, and his shoes. “Just the pants.” Bond’s quiet voice brooked no argument. Hastily Q obeyed. Before he could remove his underpants, Bond was on him pinning him down, kissing him again, his hands down the front of Q’s underpants and squeezing his cock. “God yes,” Q breathed. Bond was still mostly dressed. “Fuck me.” Q fumbled at the bedside table drawer, where he had a tube of lubricant and regrettably old condoms.

Bond snatched them from him and threw them on the bed beside them. “Roll over.”

Q did so. Bond bit at his neck, rang his fingers down Q’s flanks painfully hard, before hooking them in his underpants and yanking them down to his thighs. Bond pulled him onto his hands and knees. Okay, so Bond liked it hard and rough. So did Q, occasionally. His cock didn’t mind at all, but his cock wasn’t as fussy as Q was.

Bond prepped him with two stiff fingers, quick and barely adequately, before pushing in. Q hissed, then made himself relax. Bond set up a deep, hard rhythm, changing angle sometimes to hit Q’s prostate, never pausing, and never touching Q’s cock. Q held on, loving the feel of Bond inside him but wishing he could put a hand on himself. The force of Bond’s thrust though, meant if he tried, he’d fall on his face.

It felt like Bond would keep this up all night, but at last he came with a shudder in total silence. A pause, then he reached under Q and jerked him off with swift movements, his hands rough on Q’s erection. Q came in seconds. Bond moved away from him immediately, pulling out like he was contaminated.

Q rolled onto his side, staring at the ceiling. Bond had left the room. Had he left the house?

No, he returned, his clothes back in place and all neat, to throw a washcloth at Q. Q wiped himself and the covers, and dragged his underpants back up around his hips. “Thanks.”

Bond sat on the end of the bed. “Enjoyed that?”

“Had worse,” Q said, trying to smile. “You?”

“Had better.”

Q sat up, pulled himself to the top of the bed, and reached for his glasses. Bugger, they were still in the other room. “Of course. Who am I to compete with all your women?”

“Who are you, indeed.” Bond’s lips curled in disgust. “I had a letter a couple of months ago, from Madeleine. Said she was going away. Said she had spoken to you and you had pointed out how much she had let me down, and that she realised she couldn’t be what I needed.”

“Bond, I—”

“And there I was, in hospital, without a soul who knew me or cared about me, being told by the woman I loved that _you_ had deemed her unfit for me. And I asked myself, who the _hell_ does Q think he is?”

“I was—”

“Prettier than her? Better in bed? Smarter...well of course you think you’re smarter. Kinder? I doubt it. And then I come back to headquarters and you’re jumping around me like a puppy, as if you hadn’t delivered the biggest kick in the guts to me, and expecting me to go for a drink with you? Because you’re my _friend_?” Bond got to his feet and picked up his coat. “So you got what you wanted, Q. Happy now?”

“No. Bond, I—”

But Bond walked out. Seconds later, Q heard the front door open and shut.

_What the fuck have I done?_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Though it was Sunday, Q went into work. A kind of penance, perhaps, though that was a ridiculous idea. It was really because he couldn’t face the idea of his own company or more time spent self-loathing. Even the cats didn’t want to spend time with him in this mood.

At eleven Eve appeared in his office. “Saw you were in. I heard you went out with himself last night.”

Q put his head in his hands. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Which means you better talk about it. I only popped in to drop off something. Come outside with me. You don’t have anything you need to do, not really.”

Q looked at his desk, thought about arguing, then sighed. “No, I’ll just fuck it up like the rest of it.”

“Okay, now you really have to talk.”

It was a typical spring day in London—cold, damp, windy—so they took refuge in the Tate Britain’s café. They ordered tea and cake, and found a table. “What happened, Spencer?”

“I badgered him into coming out with me for a drink. He was obviously hostile but I foolishly thought that I had some power to change that.”

“So he was rude?”

“He was dismissive.” Q hung his head. “I asked him back to have supper, and he fucked me.”

“Spencer! You?”

“Funny, that’s what he said, more or less.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Madeleine Swann told him what I said to her, and he blames me for her leaving him. Which is nothing less than the truth, actually. He fucked me and then told me I had a hide thinking I could be a substitute, then he left.”

Eve reached for his hand. “That’s horrible.”

“Yeah. You were right, and I got exactly what I deserved.” He pulled his hand away and wrapped his arms around himself. “He hates me. I can’t blame him at all.”

“I can. I’ll shoot him if I see him again.”

“No, don’t. I overstepped the mark. The worst of it was that at the start I thought he really had some kind of feelings for me, even after Madeleine and not visiting while he was being treated. I mean, why would he consider me a friend after that?”

“You’re being a bit hard on yourself. He was angry because M wouldn’t reinstate him. He’s not even finished rehab.”

“He seems fine, strangely. Apart from the unspoken fury, which is not all that new for him.”

“Just not at you.”

“No.”

“M says he’s made astonishing progress. By normal standards, he’s done really well. It’s just that double-ohs are expected to be supernormal, and he doesn’t hit that mark. Probably won’t ever do so. But if he _hadn’t_ been a double-oh with his special abilities and training, he wouldn’t be half as well off. His brain is, and has been in the past, able to overcome injuries before. Just not enough, this time. He’s nearly at the maximum age for double-ohs. In a couple of years, M would be pushing for him to retire anyway.”

“Does he know that?”

“Probably, in his heart. He might calm down.”

Q looked at Eve. “No, I really don’t think he will. I fucked this up well and truly.”

She could only pat his hand, and be with him while he moped. They dealt in the hard cold truth, and the hard cold truth was that Bond had ample reason to hate Q. That wouldn’t change.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Q threw himself into work after that, and wouldn’t have returned home at all if it weren’t for the cats. The look on Bond’s face haunted him, and the only thing that pushed it away was coding, or working on the more dangerous prototypes. Doing either while distracted was not a long-term survival strategy, but in the short term, Q’s ability to focus was marginally better than his ability to flog himself for being an idiot. It helped that there were two serious hacking attempts by, they suspected, SPECTRE or one of their associated organisations. Q was one of the few people in the country who could have repelled the threat, a thought which didn’t give him much comfort. He sent a memo to Mallory that they needed to prioritise recruiting coders, even actual hackers, because in the future, they would be more important to the national security than explosives experts. Unfortunately, the really best people could ask what money they wanted, and HM Government wasn’t known for its generous salaries.

He staggered home on a Sunday night after the latest incursion was halted, too tired to think of anything but sleep. Even the cats would have starved if the feeder wasn’t full—which it was. It was the only thing he made sure he attended to at home, though the cats needed his presence too. Even cats had to sacrifice for Queen and country.

He let himself into the house but before he could take his coat off, there was a knock at the door. He checked the camera display. “Bond?”

“Q.”

He opened the door. Bond walked in, without waiting for an invitation.

“What do you want, Bond?”

“I thought we could fuck.”

“No.”

Bond came up close. Q smelled scotch on his breath. “Are you sure?” His voice was low and husky, and Q’s stupid cock responded. When Q didn’t answer, Bond kissed him, marginally more gently than last time.

“Why?”

“Why not? Besides, you owe me.”

Q wanted to deny that, but it was hard to think with Bond’s hands on him, under his jacket, feeling his body through his shirt. “All right.”

Bond took his hand and pulled him to the bedroom. This time Q could at least take his glasses off for himself. Bond removed his coat and jacket, then stood waiting. Q took his time, partly because his hands were shaking, partly because he really didn’t know if he wanted this or not. But he did owe Bond for what he had done to Madeleine, and if this evened out the debt, then maybe it would help Bond over his anger.

Bond urged him onto his front and pulled him up onto his hands and knees. “I don’t have—” Q said, because he’d thrown away the supplies in disgust at himself.

“I do. Keep still.”

Just like the last time, Bond rode him hard and expertly, and jerked him off to orgasm after his own. Like last time, Bond fetched a cloth and tossed it to him. Q couldn’t look at him as he cleaned up.

“Like that?” Bond asked.

“Not particularly.”

“Shame. I did.”

And with that, he left. Q pulled his knees up under his chin and wrapped his arms around himself, unable to stop shaking.

In the morning he sent a message to Eve to say he was unwell and would work from home that day. He couldn’t face anyone right then.

He didn’t tell Eve what happened either.


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks later, there was another knock at the door, and Q saw Bond’s face in the camera display. He opened the door, and stepped back. Bond walked in to find Q holding a Walther PPK on him. “Good evening, Bond. Please sit down.”

“You don’t need that surely.”

“Sit down or leave.” Q’s voice didn’t shake hardly at all, he was proud to note. His hands were rock steady.

Smiling like Q was some idiot to be tolerated, Bond sat on the armchair, legs wide, arms relaxed at his sides. “Interesting idea of foreplay, Q.”

“It’s not foreplay. There will be no sex. If you put your hand on me again, I will shoot you. If you come back here with the intention of doing so, I will shoot you. And if you’re thinking that you could take this gun off me, please note that it’s coded to my palm and any attempt by anyone else to use it will result in a lost hand.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into that.”

“And into some other things. I realise you think you are entitled to punish me through sex because of what I said to Madeleine. So far as it goes, I agree with you, but since you’ve already said I’m no substitute, I don’t see the point. But you’re not punishing me, you’re punishing Six. You’re angry at the entire organisation for letting you down, throwing you away, and you’re using me as a surrogate. Which you are not fucking entitled to do, because I’ve never let you down. I’ve always had your back, and I had your back even in that last operation. So I’m saying, enough. If you want to punish me, then beat me up or something. But you’re not hate fucking me any more.”

Bond clapped slowly. “Quite a speech.”

“I’m not finished. Moneypenny tells me you’ve checked out of rehab, and you’re drinking again. You were drunk last time you came here, and you’re drunk now. This despite the fact you are still well within the time frame where rehab can make the greatest difference, and that alcohol intake is harmful to your recovery. So to spite M, to spite me, to spite the whole bloody lot of us, you’ve decided to throw away all the work people have done with you to now, the chances you have, the opportunities you’ve been offered. That’s your prerogative. But you will never not disgust me because you’ve done this. Maybe it wasn’t Madeleine who wasn’t good enough for you. Looks like you weren’t good enough for her.”

Bond leapt up from the chair and Q fired, a bullet going through the folds of Bond’s open coat and into the chair behind. Bond stopped, his expression frozen in actual shock. “Next one goes through your head, Bond. Sit down.”

“Aren’t you finished?”

“Actually I am. All I want to say is that only you can decide that if you can’t be 007 then you’re nothing. No one else feels that way. But I’m not interested in watching you destroy yourself, so leave. Don’t come back here again.” Q moved back and motioned with the gun.

Bond walked to the door without looking at him, and let himself out. Q waited a couple of seconds, then activated the lock with his phone.

He holstered his gun, then sat on the chair he’d just shot. He felt cold inside, his brain empty of all but a dull depression. He had done what needed to be done. But what was necessary wasn’t always good.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eve noticed his less than sunny mood the next day, and when she asked, Q told her what happened in the briefest, driest terms. Even so, Eve got how devastating the whole thing had been. “Do you think he’ll come back?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will you shoot him?”

“I should...but I don’t know.”

“Do you want extra security posted?”

Q laughed. “Against _James_ _Bond_?”

“But then you’re not safe.”

“He could have killed me that night. Or any night. I don’t think he’ll do that. Whether he’ll try and force himself on me, I don’t know. I wish I could believe he wouldn’t.”

“I don’t think he would,” Eve said slowly. “Maybe you should take some time off.”

“That’s the very last thing I want at the moment—more time to think. I wish I’d never opened my stupid mouth that day. Or that Madeleine Swann had just...gone away.”

“Too late for that now. What do you need?”

“To be so busy I can’t think. And never to see him again.”

“I think you’ll get that wish. M has only put him on ‘inactive’ status, not ‘retired’, and is holding the jobs he offered open. But he can only do that for six months or so. Bond’s too bloody proud to accept, so M will have to lose him. Shame. They weren’t consolation posts. We could really use him.”

“I suspect he won’t live long enough to change his mind. Don’t be surprised to learn he’s put a bullet in his brain.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t already. I can’t help him, Spencer. I can help you. Call me before you do something stupid.”

“Don’t worry. I’m more likely to kill myself through overwork before James Bond drives me to it.”

Eve rolled her eyes. “That’s the spirit, Q.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Q’s wish to be kept busy was granted rather too well, to the point where if he were to be cloned, there still wouldn’t be enough of his man hours in any given day for him to finish all that was needed, let alone all the projects he wanted to get on with. He had three new staff but only one of them was a coder, and Carin wasn’t yet up to the speed and skill necessary to handle the worst crises. Q spent a lot of time training her because he needed her to be good enough. It was time well spent but it was time he couldn’t spare. Though it broke his heart, he ended up taking Effie and Tansy to his sister to care for—he couldn’t even guarantee to be home often enough to feed them, and they deserved to be with someone who could give them some love occasionally.

Just one more part of his life he’d given up for his job. And what was left of his life, he loathed. Hate sex with Bond was the closest he’d come to a social life in more than a year, and thing didn’t look like changing any time soon.

Eve still came down for tea and biscuits on Friday afternoons, and Bill Tanner often came along with her now, because it was the only chance they had to talk outside of meetings and let off a little steam. Even Mallory joined them on occasion. Once one had gone behind the government’s back to bring down a traitor, that shared experience tended to draw people together.

But this afternoon, neither Bill nor M came with Eve. Instead there was another familiar figure.

“May I come in?”

Bond. Behind him, Eve was mouthing ‘sorry’ at Q.

Q looked at his screen, ignoring the pair of them. “I don’t think that would serve any purpose.”

Bond stepped aside to let Eve come in. “Q, James has just had a meeting with M, and asked if he could possibly speak to you. He thought you might feel safer here. Are you wearing your sidearm?” Q looked up, then opened his jacket and showed her his holster—and the gun inside it. “Bond has given his word not to do anything to harm or upset you. He understands he’s crossed the line before.”

“Why don’t you let him say all that?”

“I will if you give me a chance, Q.”

Q shook his head. “Oh, let him in. Eve, are you staying?”

“Not unless you want me to.”

“No. But if I call security, I expect him to be removed without argument.”

“Absolutely. James, remember you promised.”

“Thank you, Moneypenny.”

She closed the door behind her. “Sit down, Bond.” Q didn’t get up to put on the kettle. “Go on.”

“Go on?”

“Say it. What she said.”

“I apologise for my previous actions. You didn’t deserve them and I had no right whatsoever.”

“Mallory tell you to say that?”

“No. Nor did Eve.”

Bond was in his smartest suit, but then he had been the last time he’d come to Headquarters. His eyes looked clear, and he was at least being civil. “So what did you want apart from that?”

“Only that. To apologise...and to tell you I went back to rehab and cut out the booze.”

Q sat up. “Really? That’s excellent. And are you...?”

“Back to double-oh standards? No. My marksmanship hasn’t recovered, and there are some visual and memory problems. Nothing that would bother most people.”

“But you aren’t most people. For what it’s worth, I said I was sorry for what happened to you and I meant it. And...I really am sorry for what I said to Madeleine. I have no excuses to make.”

Bond inclined his head. “Seems we both have things to forgive. Am I forgiven?”

“Yes. But my word still stands. Don’t you dare try it again. I won’t put up with it.”

“Understood. I hope I didn’t hurt you...I mean, physically.”

“No. I doubt even you could kill someone through sex.”

Bond’s lips curled into a cynical smile. “I can’t say I’ve ever considered the attempt. M’s offered me a new job. He wants me to act as a special advisor on mission security, sort of a supervisor on the double-ohs and other agents to see that our efforts are more coordinated and efficient, to look out for links we’re missing, and to give Q-Branch a hand during missions. He says you’re all severely overworked, and keeping an eye on us...the agents...is adding to the workload.”

Q let out a breath. “God yes. Are you going to take it?”

“If you can allow me to work with you and your people.”

“I can work with anyone, but you don’t have a good reputation with some of my staff. You might want to build some bridges there.”

“If I can. But I’d like to build bridges with you, if I may.”

Q narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“You kicked me hard enough to get me out of my self-pity. The only person who’s ever managed that before was M. The old one.”

 _And look what happened to her._ “Get along with my staff and you’ll get along with me, Bond. But...you can join Eve and me for drinks one night if we ever get another chance to do that.”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll take you both to dinner.”

“Done. Now go away so I can call her and tell her off for setting me up.”

“Don’t be too hard on her, Q. She read me the Riot Act before I was allowed down here.”

“Of course. When do you start?”

“Monday. I’ll see you then.”

“Fine.” Q made shooing motions with his hands. “And shut the door again.”

Bond left, doing as he was told. Q slumped in his chair. “Fuck.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mallory invited Q up to chat later that afternoon. “You’ve spoken to the commander, I take it?”

“Yes, sir. His help will be appreciated.”

“I hope so. He’s not what you would call a people person unless he puts his mind to it, but I’ll make sure he does. His role will be what he and we make it, but I was sure he could help take some of the pressure off Q-Branch and from Tanner. How it grows, we’ll have to see. I expect you to let me know if the experiment is failing.”

“Of course.”

“Speaking of pressure, I note that you personally haven’t taken a single day off in the last month, and a good number of your staff are working excessive overtime.” Mallory raised his hand as Q started to speak. “I know, I know. But I’m worried about staff retention, and more than that, staff productivity. Past a certain point, overtime is just to impress the boss.”

“Sir, we’re not trying to impress you. There’s just so much to be done.”

“Yes. But there always will be, Q. So starting Monday, I want you to tell your staff that they are expect to go home on time at least three days a week, and that extra days will have to be approved by Tanner. Unless someone’s life literally hangs on it, they can leave it. And you are to take your weekends _and_ go home on time at least three days a week as well.”

“We’ll never cope. Seriously, M. You know I don’t get extra pay and I’m not interested in showing off. We just need more hands.”

“Working on that for you, Q. Bond is the first, not the last extra pair I’m hoping to get for us. Use him well. But he’s under strict medical instructions to get proper rest and overtime will be severely limited for him. He’s a workaholic so he’ll need to be made to take downtime. I won’t hesitate to sic him on you for the same reason.”

“That really won’t be necessary.” And Mallory better not even _try_.

“I hope not. We may have to limit new development in favour of maintaining and bolstering existing systems. Our agents don’t need Aston Martins to do their jobs. At least, most of them don’t.”

Q winced. “No sir. If we can stop people hacking into our networks and stealing information on the agents, then that will be more use than any exploding pen.”

“Exactly my thoughts, Q. Now, perhaps you could start by going home tonight and sleeping in your own bed. You are far too invaluable for us to lose to a nervous breakdown.”

 _And yet you’ve just hired my biggest source of stress over the last three months_. “Thank you, sir.”

“Then, good night. See you on Monday.”

Q left the office. “All right?” Eve asked.

“I suppose. He’s told me to go home. Fancy fish and chips?”

“You know, I think I do, rather. Your place or mine?”

“Yours.” Q wasn’t at all sure Bond would leave him alone despite assurances. “And remind me to tell you off about that stunt earlier.”

“I already said ‘sorry’.”

“You can say it again over the nice bottle of Chilean Chardonnay you’re planning to buy for me.”

“Okay.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Contrary to Mallory’s orders, Q didn’t sleep in his own bed but only because he fell asleep on the couch at Eve’s place. She let him to sleep on her bed next to her. He took her to breakfast as a thank you.

He already felt more positive about things for the brief break. “I think Bond could be good for us,” he said, buttering his toast.

“I really can’t tell how he’ll go. On the one hand, he was the biggest pain in the arse as a double-oh, but on the other, our most effective agent. Not to mention the most experienced, and he _was_ in the navy. He knows about managing people even if he doesn’t show it often.”

“Tell me about his medical restrictions and issues. I want some time to think about how they might effect his performance.”

Eve slipped into professional mode. “The main thing is fatigue. His assessments all say that he does remarkably well compensating for the deficits, but when he’s overtired, he can’t do that so well. Then he has problems with language, memory, recognition of objects, writing, things like that. It’s all things we can correct for, but he’s still healing so M doesn’t want him to overdo it.”

Q nodded. “He wants us all to get more rest. Not that he’s a good example.”

“He goes home at least and he’s good at delegation. So you need to be. Push what you can onto Bond until he complains. Bill’s going to with respect to the double-ohs. We don’t know what he can do until he’s doing it.”

“And in the meantime I’m training another person. Great.”

“I don’t think he’ll need much training, Spencer. Are you okay now? I felt awful because I knew how much he’d hurt you, but on the other hand, he really did seem sorry.”

Q poured their tea, not meeting her eyes. “No doubt, but that doesn’t mean what he did doesn’t still hurt. I’ll live. I miss my cats though.”

“Maybe you could have them back now?”

Q shook his head. “Not fair on them, is it? Being moved around, me changing my mind and so on. They’ve settled in at Mel’s place. It doesn’t exactly encourage me to go home at nights though. And there’s no one else to go home to.”

“We make a hell of a pair, don’t we? Pity you’re gay. We could at least have pity fucks and braid each other’s hair from time to time.”

“I’m that desperate I’d almost be ready to try heterosexuality if it gave me a chance of a love life.”

She looked him up and down. “You’re on.” But she spoiled it by giggling, and he couldn’t help joining in.

“You’re right. We’re bloody pathetic,” Q said. “We can save the world, but can’t even keep pets alive.”

“We could have water bears. I hear they’re tough.”

“Not _really_ a substitute for my cats, dear.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Needing to visit HR and Medical first, Bond didn’t turn up until eleven in Q-Branch, which gave Q a chance to tell his people what was going on. The reactions were mixed. Those who’d met Bond at his worst (too many of them) were unenthusiastic. The rest thought a former agent could be very helpful in all kinds of ways. Q didn’t try and influence opinions. It would be up to Bond to make this work. Q was too busy to babysit him, and uninclined to do so. He’d made time to read the man’s medical and psych assessments which reported more or less what Eve had told him. He decided he would let Bond talk to the relevant staff about his difficulties. It would be good for him.

When he did turn up, Bond was at his cool and professional best. Not in one of his sharp ‘007’ suits, but a nice jacket and tie, ironed slacks. He knocked politely on Q’s door. “Is now convenient?”

“Yes, if we’re quick.”

Bond took a seat. “So, what do you want me to do? Tanner’s going to let you have first shot at me.”

“I already did, thank you.”

“ _Touché_.”

“There are two things which you can take on immediately, but I want you to keep an eye out for where you can help and expand your role by taking the load off my people. First, since M wants us to concentrate on our existing systems, and less on development, please go over our equipment and assess their real usefulness in the field. We’ll ditch what isn’t working. Then look at the prototypes in development and choose which ones we should continue working on. I’ll make the final decision on that though. The other thing you can do is talk to my agent wranglers. Get to know them, ask what they need, sit with them while they work with the agents.” Q narrowed his eyes at Bond. “At no time are you to interfere unless directly asked to. You are not in charge of them—I am. If I lose a single staff member as a result of anything you do, you’re gone instantly. We can’t afford it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Get to know everyone. Learn names. If you can’t remember them, ask them to use name tags, and explain why. Your disabilities will be accommodated, Bond, but you have to help us help you. And you go home at six every night unless I personally approve overtime. You can work at home if you need to. You will attend rehab appointments as arranged. You _will_ heal properly.”

“I’ve got a second chance, Q. I won’t disgust you.”

Q flushed. “Good. Now go. The first person to speak to is Norman in development, but speak to everyone. Do not flirt with anyone exclusively, and god help you if you treat any of them....”

“Like I treated you?” Bond’s voice betrayed no emotion.

Q kept his own tone calm and business-like. “Yes. My staff are my people and a lot more important to me than you are or ever will be. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“One last thing. You make your own tea. Everyone does, even me unless I’m so close to comatose that I’m a danger to everyone around me. By that time I should be going home anyway. No passengers, Bond.”

“I never have been one, Q.”

Q relaxed. “No. That, I’ll grant. Go on.”

Bond gave him a polite smile. “Thank you.”

Q exhaled as Bond closed the door. That went better than expected. But he still expected someone to resign before the end of the week.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

No one did, to Q’s surprise and relief. More than that, Bond got on with things with the bare minimum of supervision and questions. By Friday morning of that first week Q had a short list of equipment of less than optimal usefulness, and a selection of five prototypes Bond thought worth persisting with. He also brought in two large tins of biscuits for the staff tea corner, and wrote a brief memo to all staff detailing the areas in which he had difficulty and how fatigue may exacerbate them.

And not a single complaint. Tanner could hardly believe it himself. “I was expecting at least three by now, two of them from you,” he told Q as he and Eve had tea together.

“And I don’t think he’s slept with anyone,” Eve said. “Not a whisper of it anyway.”

“He better not. I’ll shoot him.” Q was entirely serious.

“And I’ll hide the body and call it refuse removal,” Tanner said. “But are things going more smoothly?”

“I think so. He helped Marie with a situation involving 009’s mission on Wednesday. Marie was happy and 009 got out successfully.”

“Good. If that goes as planned, we could have him take over all responsibility for the double-oh care and feeding. A buffer between you and them, if you like.”

“My equipment designers would prefer that. Though I want us to keep good relations with the double-ohs.”

Eve looked at Q over her cup. “I hear they still call him 007.”

Q had heard the same. “Why not? M hasn’t reassigned the number, and if it strokes his ego, it’s harmless.”

“Does he actually like it, though?”

“M has started referring to him as Agent Emeritus,” Tanner said, which made Q laugh.

“That, I like. And will never repeat.”

“And his timekeeping? Timekeeping in the division generally?” Tanner asked.

“Perfect, and getting there. Early days, though, Bill.”

“Agreed. But I’m going home on time tonight, and I hope you are too.”

“If I can just finish one thing, I won’t have to come in tomorrow. I’ll be gone by seven, I promise.”

“Make it six thirty and I’ll buy you a pint,” Eve said, smiling brightly.

“Oh, all right,” Q grumbled, secretly glad of an excuse.

“I’ll come and fetch you.”

“Now I’ve seen to the children....” Tanner climbed to his feet. “I’ll be off. Have a restful weekend.”

Eve stood too. “Oops, I better run too if I’m going home early. See you in a bit, Q.”

Q finished his tea and stole another biscuit before going back to his computer. He personally had his doubts Bond could keep up the good behaviour, but it would be nice while it lasted.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was. And it lasted longer than Q could have imagined. In his head he had a little sign that read “It has been 36 days without a 007 incident”. He was tempted to make it a physical reality, but thought it might not be professional behaviour since he had no reason to taunt Bond. The man was a gift, much to Tanner’s continued surprise and Mallory’s approval.

“I’m thinking we could repeat this experiment with other agents when they come close to retirement status,” he said at a meeting to discuss another push for funding more staff.

“Getting them to live that long is the trick,” Q said. “You get attached to them and boom, it’s like goldfish.”

Mallory blinked. “Are you getting enough sleep, old man?”

“Sometimes,” Q said brightly. “At least 12 hours a week, just like the doctors recommend.”

“You had better be joking, Q.”

“I am, sir. I’m fine.” Even if he did spend a lot of his weekends working from home, at least he _was_ home.

“Excellent. Now I think we could probably count on funding for two more staff members. So we better choose wisely.”

It was always coders, and it was always difficult to recruit the right people. Carin was turning out well, at least. But the attacks continued, and Q was always afraid that another Silva might prove to have laid down bombs in the system, or that Denbigh had during his brief and inglorious reign. Not to mention the threats from the Middle East and China, and bored nerds just about anywhere. Designing an exploding pen would be a positive pleasure after days fighting at the firewall coalface.

“And that’s a mixed enough metaphor,” Q said to himself, wiping his face as he left the meeting.

He was in on Saturday because 005 and 004 were on a mission in Kiev and needed backup from Q-Branch. The assigned wrangler had a family crisis to deal with and Q didn’t want to drag anyone else in from their well-deserved weekend. The mission was tricky not so much from the risk point of view—the dangers were great but that was standard for a double-oh mission—but from the diplomatic angle. They were there to kill a American who had obtained British tech and was trying to sell it to the Russians. If their presence or nationality became known, the shit would hit the fan, and a lot of Foreign Office staff overseas would be in danger.

The man was dead, the stolen item safely inside 005’s shirt, but 004 had been injured. Abandoning him was not an option. Neither was extraction from their current refuge. They had to get to the domestic airport where a plane was waiting for them. The problem was, they didn’t have a car and they were thirty kilometres from the airport.

“Can you go out the back way, down the fire escape?”

“Negative, no rear exit,” 005 reported.

There were police in the street in front of their building. “I’m setting off an alarm at the end of the street. That should provide a diversion. There is a cream Mercedes to the right of your doorway which you should be able to take.” Q set off the alarm. None of the police reacted, only looking towards the sound and sniffing in disgust. “Lazy sods. I’ll have to try something else. Hold on.”

Someone slipped into the seat beside him. “Can you hack into the police radio?” Bond asked.

“Yes.”

“Do it. I’ll give them verbal commands to leave the area.”

Q typed in the commands, and nodded to Bond. He barked something what Q assumed to be Ukrainian, and like fires had been lit under their arses, the police jumped into their cars and screeched off.

“Move, 005!”

Half a minute later, 005 emerged, helping 004 over to the car. She quickly broke in and got her injured partner into the vehicle, then jumped into the driver’s seat. It was a matter of seconds before she had the car engine started. Q gave her instructions across town to the airport. He and Bond tracked the vehicle on CCTV, while Q changed traffic lights and diverted traffic to give them the smoothest run. Half an hour later, his agents were in the air and on their way to a meeting on the border with Belarus.

“005, report on 004’s condition.”

“Holding up,” 004 reported weakly. “Better send a MedVac team though.”

“On its way.” Q muted his mic and turned to Bond. “Why are you here?”

“Visiting Medical. I just dropped in to see what was happening, and spotted you. Why isn’t Marie handling this?”

“Sick baby in hospital. Not that I have to explain myself to you.”

Bond held his hands up. “Sorry. I was only asking. Are you here for the rest of the day?”

“Raj will be in at four and can take over. I’ll keep an eye on them until then. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m not. But I wonder if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight? I’ve already asked Eve and she’s free.”

Q pursed his lips. Had Bond earned this yet? “All right, _if_ you behave.”

“On my very best behaviour, I promise.”

“Tell me where and when and I’ll meet you.”

Bond gave him the address. “Thank you,” he said as Q wrote it down.

“Don’t thank me, you’re paying for the lot.”

“Only fair. See you this evening.”

Q put his head on the desk after Bond left. He made the stupidest decisions when it came to 007. He wish there was a vaccination against Agent Emeritusitis.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bond had chosen, at Eve’s suggestion, a quiet restaurant near where she lived in Battersea. Eve kissed his cheek as he found their table. Bond stood. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for the invitation...James.”

Bond smiled. “Menu looks good. Any recommendations, Eve?”

By unspoken agreement, none of them drank alcohol. Though Bond was in good form, there were small giveaways that at this hour of the evening, he was starting to lose the ability to compensate for his condition—misidentifying the salt shaker, asking Eve to read the menu, misjudging distances and putting his napkin off the table. Eve and Q said nothing to embarrass him, and Bond didn’t mention it when Eve corrected the salt shaker mistake.

Aside from that, Bond was the perfect dinner companion, and had Eve giggling like a loon before they had finished their entrée. Q grinned at Bond’s ridiculous albeit completely true story about a disastrous mission in Peru and almost being caught _in flagrante_ with the Peruvian trade minister’s wife.

“No wonder the boss gets that funny little tic over his eyebrow when anyone mentions South America,” Eve said.

“South American jobs were always the worst,” Bond said. “At least for me. Although the women are lovely.”

“And the men?” Q asked.

“Also lovely. Not keen on sharing their ladies though. Funny that.”

Their main courses arrived, and Q concentrated on enjoying the food. A restaurant meal was a rarity in his life, simply because he had no one to share one with or the time to spend on it. Eve and he ate take out together so often because exhaustion was a constant. He still couldn’t quite believe that Bond had manage to catch both of them on a night when they weren’t working or too tired to come out.

“Oh, I’ve made enquiries about a flat share for you, James,” Eve said. “I’ll send you a list of possibles on Monday.”

“Thanks.”

Q looked at Bond. “Flat share? I thought you were renting in Chelsea?”

“Was. Put things in storage when...you know.” Bond pointed to his head with his fork. “M was kind enough to let me use a safe house for a few weeks but I need somewhere longer term.”

“Why not just rent a place of your own? Or buy?”

“I plan to buy at some point. But the doctors think I should have a house mate because I might leave the gas on or do something to endanger myself. I could hire a nanny, I suppose.”

“London Zoo might lend you a keeper.” Eve had no respect for anyone’s sensitivities.

“Watch it, Moneypenny. I could kill you with a spoon.”

“Like to see you try, old man.”

“I have a spare room.”

Both of his companions looked at Q in shock. “What about your cats? Ow.” Bond glared at Eve. “Mind your feet.”

“I gave them to my sister.” Q wondered why he’d even brought it up at all.

“Spencer, do you think this is a sensible idea?”

Q shrugged. “Maybe not. Just a thought. Forget I mentioned it. Dessert, anyone?”

Bond kept looking at him, and if Q didn’t know better, he would think it was with concern. He ignored the looks, and ate a truly delicious cheesecake. They ordered coffee. Q shoved the sugar under Bond’s fingers as the man’s hand landed on the pepper shaker. “Thanks,” Bond murmured.

Eve decided to walk home since she was so close. “Don’t offer to walk me back or I’ll skewer you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Moneypenny. I pity the poor rapist who goes after you though.”

“I’ll send you his balls in the interoffice mail.” She kissed Q’s cheek, then Bond’s. “Thanks for a lovely evening, gentlemen.”

“Thank you,” Bond said. “A pleasure to have the company of a smart, beautiful woman again.”

She looked at Q who smiled back blandly. “Good night, boys.”

She walked off. Despite her warning, both men watched her walk down the street and up the path to her apartment block. “Over the bridge is best for a taxi,” Q said. “Unless you want to call a minicab.”

“Over the bridge is fine. I can catch a bus home from there.”

“James Bond on a bus. Good God.”

“I even use the tube now.” Bond smiled. “You’d be proud.”

“I’m sure I never think about it. This way.”

It had been a warmish day for May, one Q spent inside unfortunately. The sky was clear and there was no wind. Quite pleasant for walking, in fact. Q rarely got the time to do so any more. “What did Medical say?”

“Hmm? Oh, this morning. Nothing much. Take two aspirin and come back in a month. No surprises. Q, why did you mention your spare room? You shot at me last time I was there.”

“Yes. And now you’re my colleague. I don’t know, Bond. I suppose because I’m there so little now, and, well, it would be nice to have someone else there.”

“Yes, but not me, surely. Damn it, I practically raped you.” Bond stopped, staring out over the Thames towards Chelsea.

“I consented. If you’d actually raped me, one, you’d be dead because I’d have shot you and two, you would not be working at MI6 because you’d never get another security clearance. I’m not a nobody there.”

“You know what I mean.”

“We had unpleasant sex and even less pleasant conversations. Do you think there will be a repeat of either?”

“Christ no. Q, I’m so sorry.”

“Stop it. We did all that, remember? Like I said, forget I mentioned the room.”

“But you want a house mate?”

“Yes, I suppose it would be nice.”

“And...would you mind if it was me?”

Q considered. “No, I don’t think I would mind. You’ve already seen the place, of course.” He walked on and Bond followed.

“I wasn’t really in the mood for an inspection, but I’m sure it’s fine, if you’re really sure.”

“Let’s give it a month, shall we? That gives you time to find something better, and I imagine you can behave for at least that long. If you don’t, I’m serious about shooting you.”

“I know. When?”

“Tomorrow? I’m home then but I don’t know when I’ll next be there. I can organise something though if that’s inconvenient.”

“Tomorrow’s fine. Ten?”

“That’s fine.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“007, do shut up.”

“Yes, Q.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Precisely at ten there was a sharp rap at the door, and despite Q’s risk assessment, the fact that Bond had publicly acknowledged his misdeed and apologised for them, and that Q was wearing his holster with the Walther, his stomach still flipped. He opened the door. Bond stood there with a suit bag and small suitcase.

“May I come in?”

“Of course. Is that all you have?”

Bond stepped in. “My furniture is in storage. There’s nothing I need right now apart from this.”

“Right. Well, the bedroom’s all set up. Go ahead and,” Q coughed, “set yourself up.” He was going to say ‘make yourself at home’ but that didn’t feel appropriate.

Bond walked past him and Q didn’t flinch. This was such a bad idea. Only for a month, he told himself. Just to give Bond time to find a more permanent place.

Q made a pot of tea. Perhaps he should go out for a walk, let the man settle in, snoop around.

 _Be out of the house when his mood swings_.

Bond hadn’t shown any tendency for mood swings but the double-ohs were, by their very nature, a volatile and callous group of people. Q’s best hope was that Bond had calmed down enough that those characteristics wouldn’t arise outside a mission.

“We didn’t discuss rent.”

Q jumped and tea went everywhere.

“Damn, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Bond moved to help Q mop up.

“It’s quite all right. Why don’t you...sit down. Over there.”

Mopping the spills gave Q’s heart a chance to stop thumping. He wrung out the cloth, emptied the spilled mug and put the kettle on again to top up. He smiled brightly at his guest. _House mate._

“Sorry, Q. I forgot how quietly I move. It’s habit.”

“We could always have taps put on your shoes,” Q said, then giggled stupidly at the idea of 007 in tap shoes.

Even Bond smiled a bit at that. “I suspect that could become quite annoying in its own right. Do you want me to call you Q here?”

“Whatever you prefer. Spencer or Q or sir or ‘hey you’. At work, Q or nothing.”

“Understood. Bond or James or ‘you horrible git’ works for me.”

“And any of those at work, right?”

“Right.”

Q topped up the pot, and came over to the living area. He didn’t sit. Bond had chosen the chair with the bullet hole. Symbolism or carelessness?

“Rent. Right. Well, I don’t need your money. How about four hundred for this month, and you buy some groceries. Do you cook?”

“Quite well.”

“Good. Then if you make a meal, then make enough for two, and that saves me having to bother. Otherwise, if I’m buying something in, I’ll buy enough for two if you’re around.”

“That’s fine. You could charge twice that for a room in this area, you know.”

“I don’t need your money. That’s enough to cover electricity and gas, breakages....” His eyes went to the chair Bond sat on.

“I should buy you a new one.”

“Why? Ashamed of the reminder?”

Bond frowned. “You don’t want me here. You’re tense as hell, jumpy, and I doubt you routinely wear your gun in the house. I should go. I’m sorry, Q.”

“No. Stop. Let me...get used to it. We work together just fine.”

“Yes, but I didn’t fuck you at work.”

Q went back to the counter and poured two mugs of tea, added milk, and brought the tea over to where Bond sat. “Here.”

Bone accepted it. “You don’t have to do this.” His voice was gentler than Q had ever heard it. “I treated you like shit. No one has to put up with it.”

“I’m not putting up with it. I didn’t. I guess I want to prove that you don’t scare me.”

“But I do. That’s what I do. Or did. I went full on to frighten you. Well done, James,” he muttered.

“At least we know that part of your brain wasn’t broken.”

Bond lifted his head and grinned. “Cheeky bastard.”

“Always. What were your plans for today?”

“I thought I might go to the National Gallery and look at some pictures of other broken down wrecks.”

And that made Q grin. “Excellent idea.”

“And then I’ll come back and make a nice supper, if you’ll be around?”

“Yes, I have some work to do, but I was planning to visit my cats. I should be back by six.”

“You’ll have to give me a key, unless you’d rather not.”

“No key. It works on thumbprint recognition and a code which changes every two days. I’ll send you an SMS with that.”

They finished their tea unhurriedly, and Q set up the lock to recognise Bond’s fingerprints. “I can cancel that over my phone in seconds. If I have any reason to believe our security has been breached, I’ll do so.”

“I’m impressed.”

“You could always break in.”

“Yes, but I won’t. Ladders are something else I’m supposed to avoid.”

Q hadn’t even asked. “Uh...perhaps you shouldn’t cook if I’m not around?”

“If it makes you happier, I won’t.”

Q nodded. “Very well. You can now come and go. Just do it noisily, please.”

Bond smiled. “I’ll look for taps on my way home.”

“Shoo.”

Q felt a lot less like a strung wire after Bond left. This could work, he thought. For a month.

He texted Eve to let her know what was happened. She replied, _On your own head, Spencer._

Well, quite.


	3. Chapter 3

After all that tension, Bond’s residence was a bit of an anticlimax. He cooked as well as he boasted, and Q became used to coming home to delicious meals prepared in advance on the weekends, and leftovers that were much better than take out. Bond was also clean and tidy in his habits, which Q highly approved of, since flat sharing at University had left him with a loathing of dirt and disorder. Bond liked to watch the television in the evenings, mostly news or football. Q, who only had it in the house because that was what people did, was happy to have the low noise in the background as he worked on his laptop or played games. It was almost like having the cats back, only without the occasional gift of poo on his bed.

Bond’s condition was most obvious at home, at night, and Q came to realise just how much sheer determination and energy Bond put into compensating for it during work hours. Q got into the habit of checking that nothing was left on, that the sugar wasn’t in the fridge, or the milk in the cupboard. Bond compensated for his memory issues by writing notes to himself, so Q put a large magnetic white board on the fridge to hold them.

“I’ve been meaning to put one there for ages,” he said when Bond questioned it.

There were a few more breakages than normal as Bond’s visual deficits led to him misjudging distances or space, and Q grew used to Bond calling the TV strange names like ‘car’ and ‘dishwasher’. These embarrassed Bond the most, but Q told him that fatigue could do that to even uninjured minds.

One month became two, and before Q realised it was nearly December, and Bond had been living in his house for six months.

At work, Bond was apparently as normal as the next person, unless he worked into the evenings. Q tried to limit that as much as possible for everyone’s sake. But there were occasions when a mission needed Bond’s supervision, and couldn't be halted because he needed to rest. Q always stayed with him when that happened. The benefit of Bond’s experience in such matters far outweighed any inconvenience.

Bond made changes to Q’s department in those six months. After the Kiev mission, he’d suggested that the double-ohs should move their office and rest room closer to Q-Branch so they could be easily reached when their advice was needed. He trained another agent wrangler, and had his team attend field testing with the double-ohs—not to be shown their deficiencies, but to be given skills that helped them understand the conditions on a mission. He encouraged socialisation between the divisions, and had as many in Q-Branch as wanted to, qualify with guns and undergo advanced driving lessons. Strangely, despite the time lost to the department while this was happening, productivity went up.

Mallory pronounced himself very pleased with the experiment. “Aren’t you?” he asked Q.

“Yes. It worries me though that we still don’t have more than two top class coders other than me. If something happened to me—”

“God forbid.”

“Yes yes, god forbid and all that, we’d be in deep sewerage. Bond teaching my people how to avoid being rear-ended by villains isn’t really helping me with these hacking threats.”

“MI5 not working hard enough for you?”

“No. Yes, I mean, but it’s not enough.”

“I understand completely, Q. But our recruitment efforts haven’t brought in anyone up to your high standards.”

“It’s not about warm bodies,” Q snapped. “The person has to be able to perform.”

“I wasn’t criticising you, old man,” Mallory said mildly. “We just have to keep looking. What about that new woman you hired last month?”

“Sheila Weston? She’s good. In a year she’ll be very good. I could do with three more like her.”

“Well, keep interviewing, Q. That’s all I can say. If it’s any comfort, finding double-ohs is just as hard.”

“Yes, well, double-ohs are not much bloody use against the Chinese government trying to infiltrate our servers. Their solution would be to kill the President or blow up the mainframe.”

Mallory hid a smile behind his hand. “Not really the answer. How’s the house sharing experiment going, by the way?”

“Fine, surprisingly. His doctors are happy, and he doesn’t leave wet towels in the bathroom, so it’s all going well.”

“Excellent. Let us know if you need him shifted though. Your health and happiness are a little more important than Bond having a cheap house share.”

It’s not just about the rent, Q wanted to protest. But he smiled and Mallory let him leave. God, did they not realise that Bond simply could not manage on his own any more? He did surprisingly well considering, but he needed someone around.

Since there was no prospect at the moment of Bond needing to find different accommodation, Q said nothing. But it still rankled that Bond’s skills could be exploited while his difficulties were ignored until they reached crisis point. Q had a lot of respect for this M’s more careful handling of his staff, but there was still a cold-bloodedness ingrained in MI6 that Q found quite repellent, even though he was more than a touch cold-blooded himself when needed.

He thought it was time for another Eve night. The three of them had had dinner several times since that first one, and the occasions had been all very pleasant.

He texted her. _Dinner tonight?_

_Rather. James?_

_I think he’s free. Your fave again?_

_I’ll book it for six thirty._

Q went back to Q-Branch, and found Bond sitting on the corner of a desk, talking to, or rather lecturing a small group of techs.

“Bond, the least you could do is buy them cake if they have to listen to you.”

The techs laughed. Steven, one of the youngest employees, piped up. “Cake would be nice, sir.”

Bond smiled. “Maybe later if you all behave. Did you want me, Q?”

“Supper this evening with Eve? At half past six?”

“Sounds lovely. Does that mean I shouldn’t buy cake?”

“It means _you_ shouldn’t eat it, 007.” Q pulled out a twenty pound note. “Steven, you are on cake seeking duty. Back in time for elevenses.”

“Yes, sir.” Steven took the note and rushed off.

“There, no more excuses for slacking, people. Carin, I need to talk to you. My office?”

It was a relatively quiet Thursday in Q-Branch and those were always training days, snatched when and where they could get them. Q walked Carin through the next task he needed doing, and then Trevor, his other elite coder, would work with Sheila and Naveen. Bond was currently making sure his wranglers could translate common instructions and street directions in five common mission languages, and this afternoon was meeting with double-ohs three, four, and six to discuss their next missions and their requirements, with 005 listening as he would be their ‘minder’ over the weekend. Before, that job fell to Q. Just having that taken care of for him had released so much time.

The three of them took a taxi to Battersea, and Eve, by now well known at the restaurant, had booked them a table at the rear, which was the preference for all agents, active or otherwise.

“I heard there was cake in Q-Branch today,” she said once they were seated and the waiter handed them their menus. “And no one brought me a piece. I’m offended.”

“I’ll make sure we have some for tea tomorrow,” Q said.

“Better had, Spencer. James, who do you fancy in the final on Saturday?”

“My heart says Dundee but I think it’ll be Celtic. Are you placing a bet?”

“Me? God no. My interest in the thing is purely to watch sweaty men flogging themselves around a cold, wet pitch. Some of them are pretty fit, though. Don’t you think so, Spencer?”

“I have no interest in football players, fit, wet or otherwise. That’s James’s thing.” At Eve’s arch look, he added irritably, “Football, I mean. I have no idea what kind of men he prefers.”

Bond concentrated on the menu and didn’t answer, and Q belatedly realised this was not a suitable topic of conversation between them. After a bit, Eve said, “Well, that was awkward. James, soup to start, do you think?”

“What’s the choice today?” He waited for her to read from the board, and said that was acceptable. Q went with that too and cursed his stupid mouth.

Fortunately they had other things to talk about. Eve was dating a bloke but finding times to meet was incredibly difficult since he was a surgeon, and her hours were not reliable. “Every time he’s asked me out in the last three weeks, Mallory’s already booked me.”

“Mallory would surely be understanding,” Q said.

“I sometimes think he doesn’t want me attached to anyone but him. James, don’t look at me like that.”

Bond was innocence incarnate. “Like what, Moneypenny?”

“Like you think that Mallory’s interested in me or something. He can’t even remember my bloody birthday. And he’s happily married. The man’s a grandfather, for heaven’s sake.”

“I don’t know, Spencer, does that sound a bit like protesting too much to you?”

“It does indeed, James.”

She glared at both of them. “I don’t date my bosses or my co-workers.”

“Nasty cough you’ve got there, James,” Q said, grinning at him. “Would you like some water?”

“I’ll throw it on him if you don’t knock it off,” Eve said, looking cross. “You know workplace romances don’t end well _even_ if someone _is_ interested in her elderly boss, which she _isn’t_.”

“We believe you, Eve,” Q said. “Thousands wouldn’t.”

“Bastards.”

However cranky she was, the meal was pleasant, though they didn’t stay for coffee. Eve collected her handbag and stood. “Early start for me” Eve said.

Q got to his feet. “Me too.”

James smirked. “I get to lie in.”

“Bastard,” Q and Eve said together.

He and James took a taxi home, and Q let them in. He had finally got over expecting Effie and Tansy to come running when he came home, but it still hurt, and he still always sighed a little when they didn’t. Bond had asked him once, and Q had said, “Cats”, and Bond has just said, “Ah.” Bond never mentioned it again.

Bond hung up their coats. “You don’t think Mallory is interested in Eve, do you?” Q asked.

“I’m sure he admires her for her many excellent qualities and thinks she’s beautiful, because she is.”

“You should have snapped her up yourself.”

“Being shot by someone crosses the line from being a turn on to a deterrent.”

“Is the line where they actually cause you bodily harm, or just being aimed at?”

“Bodily harm. Being aimed at is just part of the job.”

This was getting too weird and a little too close to home, so Q changed the topic. “Do you want tea?”

“Better not. I can watch the match in the pub if you prefer. On Saturday?”

“Do what you like. I don’t mind. I have headphones. The pub will be packed and bloody noisy.”

Bond grimaced. “True. I’ll watch it here, unless Eve wants company, if you really don’t mind.”

Q went to the whiteboard and wrote, “I DON’T MIND” in large letters. “So I don’t have to repeat myself.”

Bond laughed. “All right. Good night, Spencer.”

“Good night, James.”

Q lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. Bond had slept with Eve, and they were great friends. But then Bond had fucked Q and now they were friends...finally. It was all rather strange. Q had got well past the point of waiting for Bond to show his true colours. These _were_ his true colours. But so had the other side of him he’d shown Q. How could they coexist so easily in the one man?

He rolled over and made himself empty his brain. He had to be at the office at seven the following morning. He needed a good night’s sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Q was in early to supervise the start of 009’s mission in Tokyo. 008 was hanging around in case he was needed, but so far everything was routine. Marie would take over with James at nine, then Q had fresh applicants to interview. He had high hopes for at least one of them, but he didn’t enjoy interviewing. He was the only person who could do it at this stage though, so he just had to get on with it.

James came in and brought two mugs of tea over to the monitoring desk. “Marie’s on her way. Any problems?”

“No, routine at this point. Thanks,” he said, accepting the tea.

“Interviewing this morning?”

“Yes, until lunch time. Wish I could hand _that_ off to you.”

“Fine. We’ll just turn me into a supergenius computer expert and we’ll be set.”

“You’ve already changed yourself into the sage of Q-Branch, so perhaps it wouldn't be so hard.”

“Sage is for cooking, Q.”

“Indeed. Ah, Marie, just on time. 009’s just met his contact in the hotel. You can take over now.”

They switched places, and Marie put the headset on. “That for me, 007? Ta,” she said, pinching his tea without the slightest compunction.

Bond lifted a lethal eyebrow. “I’ve killed people for less than that, Miss Delong.”

Q grinned at her antics. “Here, Bond, take mine. I don’t have time for it. Marie, if he slips and kills you for caffeine theft, not a court in the land would convict him, so play nice.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a smile.

The interviews were in a room well away from Q-Branch, near HR. Q spoke to, and quickly dismissed, two applicants whose CVs did not match their actual abilities. The third one was more interesting, and he chatted with her for nearly forty minutes, before telling her he would be definitely in touch and noting her availability for further interviews. He sent a memo to Tanner to start checks on this one, and checked his phone before asking for the next candidate.

There was a voicemail from Trevor. “Sir, have you heard from Sheila? She hasn’t turned up to work.”

“Bugger.” Q called down to the division, and asked for Bond. “James, Sheila’s not turned up. Any chance you could do the usual ring around, and let me know what’s happening? I hate to use you as a secretary but I’m tied up here for another hour and a half at least.”

“Not a problem. I’ll text you.”

Transport problems were the most likely cause, though Sheila should have called by now. He put that problem aside and asked for the next candidate.

When he was done with the next two, he checked his phone. _S not answering mobile/landline. Mother has no info. Call me._

“James? What have you got?”

“Her mother said she left for work this morning at the usual time. I’ve got Raj checking CCTV at her station.”

“Check to see if her Oyster card been used.” Q suddenly felt cold. “You think something’s happened?”

“Yes. Gut instinct, that’s all.”

“Ask Eve to institute the missing personnel protocol. The worst that can happen is that Sheila turns up embarrassed at all the fuss.”

Bond paused, then said, “Understood.” The pause said ‘that’s not the _worst_ that could happen.’

The police would be the first contact, though Q-Branch could check the CCTV much faster. Two agents would go to Sheila’s home and ask more questions, and search her room. Q hoped that the girl had simply felt like a Friday off, or even had a job interview, infuriating though that might be. He didn’t like all the other possible outcomes.

One of the applicants hadn’t showed, and he wrapped up the others as fast as he could. He called Bond on the way down to Q-Branch. “What have you got?”

“Nothing. Her Oyster card hasn’t been used, nor has her mobile phone. Last location for that was near her home.”

Shit. “CCTV in that location?”

“None, but I’m checking those around that and the vehicles leaving the area around that time.”

Q had arrived in Q branch, and Bond, spotting him, hung up and walked over. “Who’s free? Trevor? Carin? Raj?”

“All of them, and me.”

Q tapped two of his techs, Andrea and Jamaal, on the shoulder. “You two, help the commander. Sheila’s missing. Bond, use your office at the base. Trevor? Raj? Over here. Bond, brief them, please.”

Q went to his own office and send out a memo to his people to tell them what was going on, and to ask if anyone had any ideas or information on their missing staff member.

One of the cars seen leaving the vicinity of Sheila’s last known location had fake plates. “Find it,” Q ordered.

“Already on it, Q,” Bond said. Trevor was in the police and congestion charge databases, Andrea scanning mobile calls from that area.

“Car’s found,” Trevor said. “Just reported dumped in Bushy Park. No one in it.”

“They’ve changed vehicles.” Bond looked at Q. “This is a kidnapping.”

“Agreed.” Q called Eve and passed on what they knew. “And you better tell M. This one could be SPECTRE.”

Everyone who wasn’t directly involved in supervising agent missions threw themselves into helping, or helping those doing the searching. They worked all day and into the evening until eight. Q would have stayed on, but Bond was showing telltale signs of fatigue, and Q couldn’t afford him to collapse. He sent everyone but Trevor home, and Trevor would stay only long enough to hand over things to the night shift.

Q had kept Bill Tanner apprised of everything they’d found, and there had been nothing new for hours. Q could keep an eye on things from his laptop at home, and there was no point sitting around here when they had done all they could for now.

Bond let Q take him down to the carpool without complaint, though he, like Q, didn’t want to leave if there was the smallest chance they could make a difference. He watched the traffic pass with hooded eyes.

“You all right?” Q asked.

“I’m fine. Worried.”

“Yes. It might not be connected to you know who.”

“No boyfriend, multiple cars—it’s not your friendly neighbourhood rapist, is it?”

“She might have a stalker unrelated to her job.”

Bond looked at him. “Perhaps.”

Q asked to be dropped off at the chippy while Bond went home. By the time Q returned, Bond had made tea, and changed into more comfortable clothing. Q put the food on plates and brought it over to the couch. He handed Bond a fork, but Bond missed the grab.

Q took his hand and put it around the utensil. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Bond wasn’t talking about the fork.

After a bit, Q switched on the television just to fill the silence in the flat. Comedy didn’t seem right, so he flicked over to a new programme, turning the sound down. Bond had put his plate aside half empty.

“Done?” he asked Bond.

“Yes, thank you. Sorry, I’m not really hungry.”

“No problem.”

Q refilled their tea mugs. “Never lost one of my people before. Agents, yes, but no one from my own team.”

“We haven’t lost her yet, Spencer.”

“No, we haven’t.”

“I like her. She’s sharp as a tack. Cheeky though.”

“None of my people are dull. Or reverent.”

Bond managed a small smile. “I don’t get any respect at all.”

“You do, you realise. They only tease the ones they love.”

“Then they must adore me. And you.”

“I think they do.”

“There must be something we’ve forgotten.”

“I know but I can’t think what. We checked all her social media, all her family’s social media, all the friends, every computer in the house, every phone in the house.”

Bond looked at him. “If she was snatched for where she worked and not who she was, how did they know?”

“Followed her to work?”

“But it’s a huge department with hundred of people in the building. She could be a typist.” Bond seemed to be thinking about something in particular.

“We don’t know it’s tied to Q-Branch.”

“Hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Yes. Too much of one.”

Bond reached for his phone. “Who are you calling?” Q asked.

“Work. I want them to check her social accounts for when she started, and her family’s. Maybe someone said something then which indicated where she was going to work.”

Q waited for him to make the call, but when Bond hung up, said, “Even if we know the reason, and even if we know who, that doesn’t help us find her.”

“Information is always worth having. You never know what may lead from it.”

It was nearly ten, but Q couldn’t face his bed. Neither could Bond, by the look of it. So they sat and watched the TV screen in silence, sipping tea.

The early start caught with him, and he found himself nodding off, nearly dropping his mug. “That’s me done.” He looked over to Bond, only to find his house mate asleep, fallen sideways onto the cushions.

Q rose and took the mugs away. Waking a double-oh, former or not, was not for the fainthearted, and Q briefly considered leaving the man where he was. But Bond had done good work that day and deserved better than a crick neck and headache, so Q called his name quietly until he saw Bond stirring. “James, time for bed. James. James, come on.”

Bond opened his eyes. “Fuck.”

“No thanks. Time for bed.”

Q reached his hand out but Bond ignored it, levering himself up on his own, then giving Q a crooked smile. “You threatened to shoot me if I touched you, remember?”

“Ah. I don’t think that applies now.”

“You won’t shoot me?”

“Only if you don’t go to bed, commander.”

Bond smiled and stumbled towards his own room. Q had forgotten his threat. Did Bond really think he would do that after all this time, for something as casual as a hand up? Maybe it was time for another chat.

But not now and not this weekend. Not until they found Sheila.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Morning brought the news they’d been dreading. Sheila’s body had been found near a lay-by on the westbound side of the A3. She had been dead for hours and not killed near where she was found. Indications were that she had been tortured.

Word spread, and by eleven o’clock Q-Branch descended on headquarters en masse. Eve and Mallory had came in also, and Q asked them to come down to his division. Q spoke to his people, thanked them for their efforts the previous day, and said he and MI6 would not rest until her killers were found.

“Commander Bond wants to say a few words too.”

“Thank you, Q. Overnight we discovered that Sheila’s employment in Q-Branch was very likely picked up through her Facebook account. She had been discreet and hadn’t breached protocol, but someone looking for a new recruit to this division would have been able to connect her employment here, her qualifications, and remarks by her and her friends. She was targeted we believe, for where she worked and what she did. That means all of you are also potential targets.”

“But what can we do?” Marie asked.

“What Q and M do. Change your routes to and from work randomly, and try to travel together. If you can’t, we’ll organise transport where necessary. Avoid going out on your own for a bit until we know more. Q is going to issue you all with trackers. We’re talking about other measures and Q will announce those as soon as we finalise the details. But the important thing is to pull together and work together. We can look out for each other. M?”

“Indeed, commander. I’m very sorry to hear this news, but it’s not just a personal tragedy. We have to consider ourselves at war against an unknown enemy, and we will proceed on a war footing. For now, once Q has finished talking to you about the trackers and you’re done here, please go home. Keep your eyes open, report _everything_. Nothing is too trivial. You see a strange vehicle or person following you, or you spot them more than once, phone it in. Let us worry about whether it’s a false alarm. Those of you with partners, or children, need to take extra care.”

“If you feel the need to work from home over the next week,” Q said, “I’ll be sympathetic to that.”

“The funeral arrangements will be announced in the coming days,” Mallory said. “Those of you who wish to sign a book of condolence can do so in the chapel. We have counsellors there if you want someone to talk to.”

Q held up his hand. “And I’ll be here for a while too.”

“And so will I,” Bond added.

Q’s people were in shock, and it would take time for them to get over it. After Mallory and Eve left, he had the canteen deliver sandwiches, and asked people to sit and take their time absorbing the news and its implications. 005 and 001 joined them, making it plain they were happy to answer questions. There weren’t many, but Marie asked the most important one. “Sir, what did they want from her?”

“We don’t know. All the logins and codes were changed yesterday, and she wasn’t working on anything of obvious importance to anyone else.”

“They may not have wanted anything,” Bond said, startling Q. “Sometimes a murder is about frightening people. Intimidating them.”

Everyone fell silent. Q sensed them thinking, ‘And how many did you kill for that reason, 007?

“M has placed our best agents on this investigation, and MI5 are also on it.” Several derisory snorts greeted Q’s statement. “However, if you have any ideas, however crazy you think it, or anything at all you want to contribute, text me or Bond. If you want to hang around today, I don’t mind. But your families would probably welcome you going home sooner rather than later.”

By one, everyone who wasn’t there on shift anyway had drifted off, either to the chapel or gone home. Only Q and Bond remained in the division. Eve came down to see them, hugging both of them. “One piece of negative information for you. No one has been in contact with Blofeld or his associates in prison for the last seventy-two hours.”

“What about guards?”

“Rotated every day, replaced randomly. But we’re checking them too.”

“If not Blofeld, who?” Q asked.

“One of his acolytes,” Bond said. “Another Denbigh waiting in the wings.”

“Or someone we haven’t thought of. Like the Chinese, or ISIL.”

“Not their style,” Bond said. “It’s more Russian than anything else. Or American.”

“That’s all we need, the CIA taking our people,” Eve said.

“It’s not them,” Bond said. “It doesn’t feel like them.”

Bond was like a bloodhound. But where should they point him? “What do you want to do?” Q asked.

“Let me look over what came in last night, and the autopsy photos.” Q winced. “Sorry. Sometimes you can tell who from the how. Torturers have their little quirks, like bomb-makers.”

“I’ll arrange you to have access,” Eve said, already typing into her phone. “Q?”

“I may as well stick with him. What about our double-ohs in residence?”

“Jason?” Bond called across the room to 001. “Up for a bit of investigation?”

001 strode over. “Always, James. What do you want?”

Trevor and Raj were rostered on that day anyway, so they joined up with Q, Bond and 001 to pore over the social media information. Trevor had set up a program to capture all the suspicious number plates of cars heading along the A3 in the twelve hours before Sheila’s body have been found. Eve called two hours later and said the autopsy report was online for Bond to look over, and he could view the body if he needed to.

There was an embarrassment of riches so far as number plates were concerned, with over a thousand unregistered, stolen or mismatched cars located. Q sent the data over to MI5 since they had more manpower. Bond spent a long time looking at the autopsy reports.

“It’s almost perfunctory,” he said. “There’s no sign that the assaults took place over more than an hour, looking at the bruise formation and the other wounds. Either she’d have given them what they wanted immediately, which I would have expected from someone that new, in which case, why so many wounds, or she’d have resisted for a bit, in which case, why are the bruises so fresh?”

“Torture for torture’s sake? Why?”

“They could just be sick fucks,” 001 said.

“Or they wanted us to think she’d told them something.”

“Do you need to see the body?” Q asked.

Bond paused, still staring at the gruesome photos. “No, not me. Jason, do you think you could?”

“Certainly.” 001 slipped away to do just that.

“I’m afraid I’ll miss something,” Bond said quietly to Q. “You know, with the injury.”

“Yes, sensible of you.”

001 returned an hour later and said he agreed with Bond’s assessment. “At least the lass didn’t suffer for too long.”

“Some comfort,” Trevor said.

“It’s all we have to offer,” Q said. “Trevor, Raj, keep working on this, but at this point, we have so much information we’re drowning in it. If we can find the car, crossmatch it with mobiles in the area where she was taken, we might find an identity that way. James, is there anything more you can do?”

“Not at the moment. The police are asking for witnesses?”

“All that’s in hand. We might get lucky.”

“What about her family?” Raj asked Q.

“M will speak to them. Maybe I should—”

Bond held up his hand. “Don’t. Not yet. You handle the living. M can deal with the dead.”

Raj’s face showed his shock at such a callous statement, but Bond didn’t back down. “It’s his job, Raj. Not Q’s.”

Q wished Bond had been a little more subtle. “He’s right. I’ll send a note, and I’ll speak to them at the funeral. They’ll only want answers we don’t have.”

Raj pushed his chair back abruptly and walked off. “I’ll speak to him,” 001 said. “You lads should bugger off. This’ll do your head in, and you’ve done all you can today.”

Bond nodded. “Q?”

“Let’s go. But call me, 001. Raj can too.”

“I know.”

Mallory had sent orders that senior staff were not to use public transport until further notice, so they headed to the carpool. “I suppose you can still watch your football match,” Q said, trying to change the mood a little. “If you want to, that is.”

“Why don’t we ask Eve to join us? Or join her? She’ll want to get away from this as much as you do.”

“You’re brilliant,” Eve said when Q called her. “I was just about to leave. I’ll meet you in the carpool and we can go to my place. I have food.”

Raj would be horrified. But one thing Q had learned was that one had to snatch respite where one could in this job. He would be just as connected to the office at Eve’s place as his own, and closer if he needed to come in.

Eve took their hands and held them while they drove to her place. “I hate this so much. She was just a kid.”

“Kids are murdered all the time too,” Q said.

“That doesn’t make it right.”

She poured them all a glass of wine when they got settled at her flat. “To lost colleagues,” she said.

Bond sipped at his wine, then set it aside. Q poured it into his glass. Bond wouldn’t want any more.

But after that salute, Eve and Bond were straight into the football. Q moved off to the side and monitored his laptop. There was a message from 001 saying he’d calmed Raj down. Q didn’t doubt that Bond might have to do a bit more explaining but Q-Branch dealt in death, and agents died all too often. The only difference here was it was one of their own people. There were still defined roles in the department, whoever it was who’d been killed.

He kept an eye on Bond, keeping an eye for signs of fatigue. A stranger watching would only see two football fanatics routing for their teams, and good-naturedly ribbing each other. But Q noticed Bond was relatively subdued, and that Eve was forcing herself to be more outrageous than normal. Q envied her that ability. He was no actor, and couldn’t feign interest where there was none, or silliness when inside he felt sad.

He had an inspiration and got into the access logs of the facial recognition database. As he suspected, the database had been illicitly accessed to find Sheila’s identity. He sent Trevor the information so he could set a tracer on the address the access had come from. The hacker had covered their traces, but not well enough. Trevor found an address and Q messaged Tanner who ordered a team over there.

Then Q could only wait, while Bond and Eve vented their emotions at the television. No point in spoiling their fun. It might come to nothing.

When the game was over, Eve jumped up to see if Q wanted any more food. “What have you been working on, Spen?”

“You two might to hear. Turn the TV off, Eve, please.”

She did so immediately. Bond stood and came to lean over Q’s shoulder. “Move away, James. It’s not on my screen. Just sit, will you please?”

Frowning, Bond obeyed, and Eve sat as well. “I thought to check if anyone had been using the facial recognition database to identify Sheila after she started. That’s how they found her Facebook and other records. Trevor tracked down the address accessing the database, and it’s linked to an address in Guildford. We’ve raided the place, and there’s evidence that this is where she was held, and probably killed. MI5 are crossmatching the address with the registration and phone records. False names, rented for cash, the usual. But we’re a bit closer.”

“You did this while we were watching the football?” Bond said. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“And what could you do? This is my thing, James. It’s what we do in Q-Branch every day.”

“What now?” Eve asked.

“Now we wait for more intel. This could be a deliberately false trail, or it could go somewhere. James, don’t look at me like that. Even when you were 007, this wasn’t your job.”

“I don’t like sitting around.”

Q rolled his eyes, as did Eve. “No, really,” Q said. “Learn to cope. Now you know what it’s like when we were waiting for you to come back from a mission.”

“Or the dead,” Eve muttered. “I need tea.”

“Second that.”

“Yes please,” Bond said, still frowning.

While Eve got busy, Q showed Bond his work, just in case they’d missed something. But Bond could make nothing more of it than Q had already done. “Nicely done,” Bond said.

“I was too slow to think of the database.”

“MI bloody 5 should have thought of it before now.”

“Yes but she was my staff. I could have saved her if I’d thought of this sooner.”

“Or not. This isn’t your fault, Q. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of blame shovelled around when this is done. Move on.”

Bond held his gaze, until Q nodded. “All right. Hurts though, wondering.”

Eve came back into the living room. “M just emailed me. They’ve made an arrest.”

“Who?”

“A Marcus Wenham. He’s being questioned.”

“Name doesn’t ring any bells.” Q opened his laptop to start searching, but Bond put his hand over the keyboard. “James?”

“Let the people doing the job, do the job now.”

“But they’ll miss things.”

“I don’t think so. What I’m sure will happen is that Wenham will turn out to be hired by a faceless somebody, and he’s been sacrificed. You found him too fast. It’s sloppy work, but the snatch wasn’t. He’s not the hammer, he’s the nail.”

“But I can help.”

Bond moved his hand. Eve looked at him, then Q. “He’s right, darling. Give them a couple of hours at least or you’ll be tripping over each other.”

Q shut his laptop again with a little more force than necessary. “Very well. You mentioned tea?”

A little later, Eve suggested they stay for pizza, and Q agreed, though he was still irritated at Bond. He called a halt at eight because he was tired from being on edge all day, and Bond was starting to mix his words up again. Eve kissed them both and told Q that he’d done well that day. Q knew he hadn’t done as well as he should have.

He let them into the house, and headed for the kitchen. “More tea?”

“Yes, thanks. You're still angry with me, aren’t you?”

“A bit, yes. I don’t need a minder.”

“I thought you could use a friend, actually.”

Q stopped with the kettle still in his hand. “You ridiculed me for calling myself that, remember?”

Bond met his eyes. “Yes. Not my proudest moment, if you recall. But if you don’t consider me a friend, I can’t blame you.”

Q finished putting the kettle on, then took Bond by the arm and led him over to the couch. “Sit. We need to talk.”

“That sentence never ends well.”

“No, probably not. You’re in a different place than you were eight months ago, aren’t you?”

“Yes. A better place, I hope.”

“Do you still resent me for not visiting you in hospital?”

“Not now I’ve seen Q-Branch on a day-to-day basis.”

“But I could have made time.”

“Move on, Spencer, it’s in the past.”

“What about Madeleine? Are you still angry about her? Do you miss her?”

Bond sighed. “You were right. It wouldn’t have lasted. She was in love with a knight in shining armour, and that James Bond never existed. _You_ were angry with her though.”

“I didn’t think she gave you the care she should have done for someone who claimed to love you.”

“It wasn’t her fault. I did my best to hide the symptoms. I thought I was just dealing with concussion.”

“She’s a _doctor_ , James. She should have noticed.” Q folded his arms. “I don’t want to fight about her. I wanted to talk about our relationship. Are we friends now? Or are you still sneering at me from behind your smile.”

Bond stared. “You could believe that?”

“You’re a hell of an actor.”

“Not that good. I’m not sneering at you at all. I’m...rather fond of you. You’ve been very kind when you had every reason not to be. You’ve been a true friend.”

Q relaxed. “Oh. Good. Because I want to be. I wanted to be all the way along but I didn’t do a very good job of it.”

“Hard to be a friend to someone determined to be an absolute shit to you.”

“Yes, it is.” Q got up and set about making the tea. “So for the record, I’m not going to shoot you, okay?”

“Glad to hear it.”

He brought the mugs of tea over and handed one to Bond. “You think this Wenham character isn’t going to lead us anywhere?”

“Not what I said. I think he’s been set up to lead us nowhere. But that doesn’t mean he won’t be the key to solving this.”

Q nodded. “Right. I need to write a letter of condolence to her family. I’ve never done that before.”

“I have, in the Navy. If you want help, that is.”

“I do, thank you. But not tonight. I’m wrung out. What a bloody awful day.”

“Perhaps you need to go to bed.”

“I do, and so do you. But last night I couldn’t sleep for worrying and tonight I won’t be able to convince myself that I haven’t missed something vital. Maybe I should just have a look—”

Bond put his palm on Q’s chest. “Spencer, what did Eve say?”

“She said a couple of hours. It’s been that.”

“Two hours and five minutes.” Bond hadn’t moved his hand and it was distracting Q quite ridiculously.

“Can I at least check where they’ve got to?”

“It’s your house.”

Q slid out from under Bond’s hand. “Just one look, I promise.”

Bond sighed. “Mind if I put the TV on?”

“No, go ahead.”

Q logged into Six’s network and checked the interrogation records, as well as the searches on Wenham himself and his known associates. So far as he could tell, everything that could be done, had been done, for now, not that Wenham wouldn’t be questioned again tomorrow. No motive had been turned up, other than money. Wenham said he’d been paid to kill Sheila, but didn’t have a name for his employer. He hadn’t kidnapped her, he said. She had been dumped unconscious at the house and he had done everything to her and killed her before she ever woke again.

“Looks like your prediction was right,” Q said, closing his laptop and going back to the couch. “Bugger it.”

“Sorry.”

Q shrugged. “Too easy, as you said. Is there anything on?”

“Star Trek. The reboot.”

“Perfect. Too awful to care about, too stupid to criticise.”

Bond lifted an eyebrow. “You have very strange criteria for entertainment.”

Q ignored him, and drank his tea while the perfectly stupid movie started. What he hadn’t mentioned was that while the film was reportedly dumber than a bag of rocks, there were some pretty men in it, and he was shallow enough to watch them flit across the screen and distract him when he needed it.

He slumped down on the couch and let his mind wander, hoping to dull his thoughts enough to sleep. Bond kept the volume low, which discouraged Q from commenting on the rampant idiocy of just about every aspect of the production. Bond said nothing, although he snorted with laughter occasionally. Any other night, Q would have been curious as to what he thought of this kind of movie.

Not tonight.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He woke with a start, and found he was lying on Bond’s shoulder. Bond had reached for the remote and that must have worked Q up. “Time for bed,” Bond said, though he made no move himself.

Q closed his eyes again. _So nice here._

“Spen-cer. Spen...wake up.”

He opened his eyes again. Bond was grinning at him. “Do I have to?”

“Yes you do.”

“Bugger.” He levered himself upright. “Glasses?”

“Here.”

He put them on and sighed. “I think I was having a lovely dream.”

“Go to bed and maybe it’ll come back.”

“Maybe.” He turned to Bond. The man was still grinning. “What?”

“You’re rather cute like this. All rumpled and sleepy.” Q elbowed him. “Ow.”

“Go to bed yourself.”

“Okay.” But Bond still didn’t get up.

“Are you waiting for a kiss goodnight?”

Bond cocked a cheeky eyebrow. “Maybe I am.”

Q leaned in and kissed his cheek. “There. Happy now?”

Bond grinned. “Yes, perfectly. Good night, Q.”

Q shook his head. “Idiot. Good night.”

He went into his bedroom, wishing they had started that way months ago. Too late now they were friends.


	4. Chapter 4

MI6 interrogators were good, but they couldn’t get blood out of a stone, and they couldn’t get more out of Marcus Wenham than the man knew. The owner of the murder house was the archetypal little old lady renting it out for an income, and unaware the actual tenants had done a flit two weeks before because they’d paid their rent as normal. Those tenants hadn’t been located which, Bond considered, meant they had either been well paid to disappear or they were dead.

Q sat on his laptop most of the day, liaising with M’s people, and asking questions Bond had discussed with him. He couldn’t find any gaps in their strategy, no matter how much he poked at it. Bond kept him fed and watered and from going nuts from frustration. He thought about going into Q-Branch but there was nothing he could do that he wasn’t doing already. The double-oh missions were going smoothly for a change, so he couldn’t even use that as an excuse.

It was something of a relief to head into the office on Monday morning though. There were other tasks there—nothing quite as urgent—which could absorb his mental attention while other, better trained people looked for a murderer. He was no Sherlock Holmes, and though Bond had some experience with personal interrogation, double-oh methods weren’t designed to leave the person intact or alive. With Wenham their only proper clue, they couldn’t afford to destroy him.

So instead, Q concentrated on Carin and Trevor’s training, and brought the less experienced coders like Naveen in to learn, setting them a simulation as close to the real thing as he could make it. Bond took the most junior members of the division aside and gave them an in depth talk about how to avoid being abducted and what to do if one was. He also spent a couple of hours teaching them some quick and dirty self-defence tricks he’d picked up as a double-oh.

Bill Tanner came to see Q while this was going on. “Think it will help?”

“Can’t hurt,” Q said. “It’s helping them with their worry and dealing with Sheila’s death. God knows I wish I could throw someone through a wall over it.”

“Quite. Whoever it was, was hunting for other members of your staff. We found their paw prints in the facial recognition database. Sheila was just unlucky.”

“I want Facebook banned, Bill. Not just forcing accounts to be locked, but erasing them completely.”

“Agreed, but M doesn’t know if it’s enough or necessary. There’s so many of these damn things now, and even when people erase them, the data is still there. And it wasn’t just Sheila’s account, it was her university friends, their families, and _their_ friends. Where do you stop with a ban?”

“You don’t. You erase the whole damn thing. Nuke it from orbit.”

“And the young people migrate somewhere else. After all, you didn’t use it when you were a teenager.”

Q winced. “Myspace. But it wasn’t a network like what the kids have now.”

“Livejournal? Yahoo? The genie’s out of the bottle.”

“And our staff are being picked off. Did you want me for anything?”

“Just coming down to offer support, see how you’re doing. Never thought James Bond would be coddling the youngsters.”

“Not sure it’s coddling.” Q watched Jeremy being held down on the mat at the far side of the office. “The difficult bit isn’t training now but complacency later.”

“Then maybe Bond can keep them on their toes a bit longer than usual. Anyway, you did good work on the weekend. I think we might crack this yet.”

Q nodded over to Bond and his victims. “He’s not sure.”

“Trained to be suspicious. We’ll see.”

He arranged for another food delivery from the canteen, and took it on himself to make tea for Bond’s group of trainees when it arrived. “Time for a break, everyone,” he said, bringing over a tray of mugs, with the food trolley behind. “Help yourselves. The rest of you too. You can make your own tea though.”

Bond grabbed a mug and a sandwich, before taking a chair. “Don’t wear yourself out,” Q warned.

“I’m not even close. But yes, I’ll be careful. What did Tanner want?”

“Nothing really. He said someone had been trawling for other IDs in the database. Sheila drew the short straw.”

“Interesting. If it’s one of Denbigh’s cronies, then it looks as if he didn’t pass on as much information as we feared.”

“That’s only one of a dozen possibilities, including the Russians as you said yourself.”

Bond shrugged. “Doesn’t rule the first one out. What worries me is what they gained through this.”

“Which is why I’m bolstering our security again and am preparing my coders for another major attack. Do you think they’ll take another one of our people?”

“If I could send each one of them home with a double-oh at their side, I would. Though I suspect you’d think I was overreacting.”

Q thought of the autopsy photos, Sheila lying in the morgue with all the insults to her body on display. “No, I really wouldn’t. Keep up the good work, 007.”

He began drafting a letter of condolence to Sheila’s parents. It was much more difficult than he imagined, and he’d already imagined it to be wrenching. He gave it an hour then slid the draft into a folder to take home. James could look it over. At least he’d done it before.

At five o’clock on the dot the network sent out an alarm that it was under attack. Q’s simulation had become the real thing, and his coders switched smoothly into gear to deal with it, as did he. The rest of the division knew to stay well clear as Q fought the onslaught.

“Come on, you bastards,” Q muttered. “Come out where I can see you.” He didn’t just want to stop the hack, but to find out who was behind it. He didn’t believe in coincidences any more than Bond did, and this had to be connected to Sheila’s death somehow.

By seven he thought he had it under control, and could stop for a couple of minutes to catch his breath. That was when he noticed Bond lurking at a desk near his office. “007, time for you to go home.”

Bond stood up and walked over. “I was waiting for you.”

“Don’t. I’ll be another couple of hours, if not all night. You can’t do anything here, James.”

“If you’re sure. What about food?”

“I’ll send Trevor to the canteen for something for all of us. But you need to leave. Good work today.”

Bond snorted. “Not enough.”

“You don’t know. See you at the house.”

Bond nodded. “Be careful coming back. It’s snowing.”

“Yes, mother. Good night.”

Trevor arrived back with the food just in time for another incursion. One of less severity though, as if the hackers were just checking that Q hadn’t become complacent. “You wish,” he said to the invisible enemy. “Run along and try the Pentagon, it’d be easier to get into.”

By midnight things were completely under control. Q didn’t like to leave, but he could sit there until Doomsday waiting for another attack. His phone would set off an alarm if something else happened, and he could deal with that from home on his laptop. “Go home,” he told Carin and Trevor. “Splendid work today.”

“Thank you, sir,” Carin said. “Who’s behind it?”

“That’s your job for tomorrow, finding out. But not too early tomorrow. Get some rest. Be careful going home.” At least they’d have cars from the carpool to do that. Their drivers were all ex-military or police, and better than even the Prime Minister could order up.

They headed to the carpool together. Carin and Trevor went in one car to the East end, and Q in another to Sheen. Despite his words to Carin, he began to dig deeper into the logs to try and locate the source of the attack. From the sophistication, he’d suspect the Chinese, but killing Sheila wasn’t their style.

A tremendous bang, and the airbag was in his face as his laptop shot sideways. Stunned, he couldn’t at first work out what had happened, but the sound of gunshots through the windows woke him up. He tried to fight his way past the airbags to get out, but his door was wrenched open and he was pulled out of the car, a sudden shock of horrific pain through his body paralysing him.

A second, lesser pain, this time in the neck, and his brain went fuzzy. He was dragged into another vehicle, pushed down to the floor of the back seat. His glasses were snatched away, and his arm manhandled to remove his watch. His shoes were also taken. _There goes the tracker._ He couldn’t get the leverage to struggle from his position, with his arms up behind him and now bound with what felt like cable ties.

He guessed he was driven for about five minutes. He didn’t know where the attack had happened because he’d not been paying attention. Five minutes could be a mile or a hundred yards in London. Then the car stopped and he was pulled out again into the frigid air and flung into another car.

He didn’t remember anything after that until he woke up in pitch darkness, his hands bound behind him. Stretching carefully, he found his feet were also bound, and a rope between them and behind his back connected wrists and ankles. So he lay still, and listened. Wind through some kind of crack or vent above him. No vehicle noise. No sound of anyone moving or breathing. No one in this place with him? He saw no light through wherever the wind was coming in, so it was still night-time, or he was indoors.

“Help? Can anyone hear me?”

His voice echoed in a way that suggested metal walls. A shipping container? It was bloody freezing in here, so was he outside? Maybe in a field?

He tried to stay calm. The missing carpool car would be noticed very quickly, and the collision probably caught on CCTV. His kidnapping would get things moving fast, even without Bond kicking up a fuss, which he would, as would Eve. They’d found Sheila fairly fast. But then her body hadn’t been inside a container.

All he could do was try and free himself from the ropes. Should be easy. Double-ohs did it all the time. _Put your back into it_.

Whatever drug he’d been given was still in his system, so his movements were uncoordinated and slow. The cold didn’t help, making his fingers stiff and uncooperative. The binding on his ankles were heavy leather cuffs—one of his kidnappers must have been a kinky bastard—but the ankle cuffs and presumably his wrists were connected by hemp rope. He had enough freedom of movement to get up onto his knees and arch his back so the rope between ankles and wrist went slack. This didn’t give him the slightest advantage, nor could he make any headway on the knots. Amateurs hadn’t tied them, because Q knew knots and ropes, and the common ways of getting out of them. The uncommon ways involved equipment inconsiderately removed with his watch.

Frustrated, he lay back down on his side. The floor was wood—plywood of some kind. Information that didn’t help since he had nothing to cut it or set fire to it. At least he had his coat, so he wouldn’t freeze to death. _No, Spencer, they’ll come to kill you before that._

He allowed himself to sleep. He hoped he would have some light to work with in a few hours and that might give him ideas.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The light didn’t help. Pale, diffuse sunshine through a single vent on the long wall of what was indeed a shipping container was all he had. The door was so well sealed nothing, probably not even air, came through it. The wind had dropped and he could hear nothing but his own breathing and heartbeat. If there was snow on the roof of this thing, that would help keep some heat in, but being unable to move much or curl up tight robbed him of the chance to stay warmer than he was.

There was nothing, literally nothing to work with. No wires, no bars he could reach, no rusty corners he would try and force open. He painfully edged sideways all over the damn floor to see if there was a single rough edge he could exploit to left or work on the ropes with. Nothing. And his back was killing him.

What was the purpose of keeping him here? Kill him, sure. Torture him for information, he understood. Send him to a foreign country to be sold for his talent? Improbable but not impossible. But just to be kept here like an Xmas ham was ridiculous. Insulting even.

To distract himself he imagined what was happening at Six now. Tanner would be in charge at Q-Branch, directing searches of CCTV and databases. Bond would be growling out suggestions and orders. Carin and Trevor would be glued to their computers. Anyone who had no role to play would be playing support, feeding tea and refreshments— _Don’t think about food_ —while the others worked frantically. Mallory might be there too, watching anxiously. And Eve would be yelling at MI5 and the Met to get their backsides into gear.

Or maybe there had been another attack, this time successful, and MI6 was in chaos. The country might be in chaos. Central London might resemble a war zone. His imagination had too much fodder from real life experience for comfort.

He heard birds cheeping and singing and generally taunting him with their freedom. Did that mean the weather had improved? He couldn’t tell. Inside the container was still as cold as ever. Not that late November sun would offer much warmth even on a good day. If he could just get his hands under his coat...but the ropes prevented it. His socks weren’t thick enough to beat the temperature without shoes.

He was thirsty. He licked the moisture on the walls where he could reach it but it wasn’t enough. Water was more important than food. Pity he didn’t have either.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He never knew how much being really hungry hurt. Not a “I missed lunch” headache, but a clawing pain in his gut. Almost a match for the desperate thirst.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He idly imagined Thirst and Starvation in a cage match, fighting for the honour of which would get to kill him first. And then because he was a bloody masochist, James striding into the ring to knock them both and say, “This one is _mine_.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He really hoped James was on it now. If a double-oh couldn’t find him, he had no hope at all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Strangely he didn’t feel so hungry now. Maybe the cold. Thirst like a fire consumed him. His shivering threatened to tear him apart.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He didn’t seem to able to stay awake much any more. But then there wasn’t any point.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The cracking open of the container door scared him, but only distantly. Maybe it was his kidnappers. He almost didn’t care now, so long as they brought water.

“That’s him. Spencer Atherton. Careful with him, lads.”

Big feet, heavy boots. Strong hands, cutting at the ropes. He whined a little at the pain of suddenly released joins.

“Mr Atherton, are you awake? Can you hear me? Start an IV line, Jeff.”

Rolled on his back, covered by a lovely warm blanket. A pain at the back of his hand—the IV. The man continued to ask him questions but his mouth, throat were too dry for him to speak. “Water,” he mouthed. Something at his lips, moist, and he licked at it, then a trickle of cool fluid. They weren’t going to kill him yet.

“You’re safe now, Q.”

He tried to turn towards that voice. James. He blinked at the bright light but couldn’t focus. “Bond?”

It wasn’t even a whisper but James heard him. Someone knelt, making the wood creak. “It’s me. You’re safe.”

Q closed his eyes. James was here, so of course he was safe now.

He was lifted gently onto a gurney and carried outside. Still fucking cold, and snowing. A flake landed on his lips and he licked it. “More.”

Another sip of water. “We can’t give you too much now, Mr Atherton. You’re on an IV so you’ll be fine.”

“Q, I’m following you to Medical. Do you understand?”

James was leaning over him, reaching under the blanket for his hand. “Yes.”

“We’re about an hour out. Hold on.”

“Yes.”

Q dozed in the ambulance. It was lovely to be warm again, but he felt so tired. Surely they wouldn’t mind if he just had a nap....

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He woke up in Medical under a pile of warm blankets. Still on a drip and with something up his nose, which was unpleasant. James was in a chair in the corner, arms folded and wide awake, his expression on his unshaven face grimly watchful. “Bond?”

Instantly James was on his feet. “Q.” He came over, and took Q’s hand, the one without the IV. “How do you feel?”

“Lucky.”

James grinned. “Do you want some water? You’re only to take sips for now.”

Q nodded, and James held a small cup to let him sip wonderfully cold liquid. “Thanks. Tell me everything.”

“Are you sure? You look like an abandoned kitten.”

“I won’t always be in this bed, 007.”

“And you’ll have your revenge. Understood. It wasn’t SPECTRE as such. Another group trying to emulate Denbigh and insinuate themselves with SPECTRE.”

“How long?”

“Six days. I’m sorry, we should have found you faster.”

Q struggled to bring James’s hand to his lips. “Shut up,” he whispered.

James stroked Q’s hair off his face. “Understood. Oh, here.” He produced Q’s glasses, or a replica thereof, and put them on Q’s face.

“Thank you.” He wasn’t blind without them but he was sick of everything being hard to focus on.

There’s a...um... _queue_ of people waiting to see you.” Q groaned at the pun. James bent and kissed his cheek. “You’ll be fine, they tell me. Maybe even home tomorrow.”

“Whenever is fine. Go away now.”

“Yes, Q.”

James had not been even slightly exaggerating about the line-up of people waiting to see and touch him like he was a precious relic. After more water, and a check over from the doctor, the deluge began. Starting with M and Tanner, and even with the admonition from the nurses that each visitor was allowed five minutes only, it took over an hour for them all to trail in, ordered by rank, offering hand shakes, hugs, and in a couple of cases, tears.

Carin cried unashamedly, and Q had to work to calm before she could talk. “After Sheila....”

“I know, I know,” he murmured.

“If you hadn’t come back, boss, I don’t know what I’d have done.”

“You’d have done your best to become Q in my place, as you very well might do one day.”

She wiped a hand across teary eyes. “I don’t want that ever. You’re not going to die.”

“Well that’s immortality sorted then,” he said deadpan, and she giggled through her tears. “When did you sleep last?”

“Um....”

“Go home, and tell the rest of that lot to do the same. I’m fine. I’ll be back in the office bribing you all with cake before you know it.”

“Yes, boss.”

His last visitor was Eve. “Oh, where’s your bulldog?”

“James? I told him to leave ages ago.”

She sat on the chair and crossed her long legs. “Huh. That didn’t work for any of us. Tanner finally had to allow him to sleep in Medical because he wouldn’t go home.”

“That’s not good for him.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know, Spen. But your bunch of maniacs wouldn’t listen. I swear, if we hadn’t found you alive, the lot we’ve got in custody would have been torn to bits by Q-Branch teeth.”

“You have people in custody? Tell me everything.”

The five-minute rule didn’t apply to the Moneypennys of the world, fortunately, so Eve told the story in as much detail as Q could bear. “It was James who realised what was going on. They weren’t looking for just anyone—they were looking for _you_. But you’re not in the databases. He made Wenham confess that Sheila had been taken to confirm which of the unidentified people in the pictures of our staff was you. Then all they had to do was follow you and hope to pick you off when you were alone.”

“Hence the late afternoon hack?”

“Precisely. You were safe so long as you were with James, we think. Even that lot isn’t stupid enough to take on James Bond.”

“But who? And how did you find me?”

“Former colleagues of Denbigh, close friends with organised crime connections across Europe. Small fish for now, hoping to be more. But that’s not how we found you—your people cross-referenced mobile calls from when Sheila was taken, your trips back and forth from headquarters, and the assault on your driver. Then they worked themselves half to death chasing that down and the cars. We checked dozens of addresses, and finally came up with you. It was nearly too late,” she added.

“‘Nearly’ doesn’t matter.”

“It wasn’t you who would have had to have dealt with James if we hadn’t got there in time. Even M was worried what would happen then.” She took his hand and put it against her cheek. “Don’t scare me like that again, Spencer. Quartermasters aren’t supposed to be killed on the job, unless it’s by one of their own devices. And my Q isn’t allowed to die at all.”

“I’ll do my best.” Q yawned. “What time is it?”

“About three. Now do me a favour and tell James to go home and shower, will you? And sleep in his own bed for a change.”

“He’s probably already gone.”

She gave him a funny look. “I very much doubt it.”

“You look as if you need some sleep too, Miss Moneypenny.”

“On my way,” she said with a smile. “As soon as you’re up to it, dinner’s on me.”

“No, on me. I owe you. And James.”

“And your team.”

“Can you do me one favour, Eve? Tomorrow, when you’re back at work, could you order me the biggest, loveliest cake you can locate and have it delivered for afternoon tea on Tuesday? If I’m still here, I can still make it that far.”

“I think I can manage that. Oh, by the way, we found your wallet and phone and shoes stuffed in a bin at Putney.”

“How kind of them. Shoo now, darling Moneypenny.”

“As you wish, Q.”

As she left, a nurse came in to check his vitals, and offer him more water. “When will I be allowed out?”

“Tomorrow, probably. So long as we can get you to eat a meal and we’re sure there are no complications. How does that sound?”

“Heavenly.”

She left him in peace, and he tried to sleep. The problem was, he felt much better with every drop of saline into his veins, there was a lot to take in, and the blasted nasal tube was itching. He scratched at it, annoyed. He had bloody pipes coming out of him everywhere.

“Don’t pull that out, you need it.”

Q jumped and turned. James was back in the corner chair. “When did you came back?”

“Just now. That tube is feeding you.”

“It’s driving me insane.”

“Too bad.”

“That’s rich coming from you. When did you ever have one?”

“In Cambridge earlier this year. They’re a damn nuisance, but you need it, so stop playing with it.”

Q pulled a face. “Bully.”

“For your own good.”

“Speaking of which, I hear you’ve not gone home for a week. So go home. I don’t need a guard.”

“I’m not here as a guard, Spencer. I just thought you might like the company.”

“As a friend then.”

“Yes.” There was a dare in that sharp gaze.

“Well, thank you. I still want you to go home and shower and sleep in your own bed. Request from the top.”

“M?”

“Higher up—Eve.”

James grinned. “Oh. Do you want anything?”

“For you to go home. They’re letting me out tomorrow most likely. I’m not injured.”

“Spencer, you nearly _died_ from hypothermia and dehydration.”

“But now I’m warm and rehydrated, I’m fine. As if you’d put up with fussing.”

James had the grace to look very slightly guilty. “What about a book?”

“Go home. Come fetch me in the morning.”

“Done.” James looked around him then at Q. “Leaving you alone doesn’t feel right.”

“I’m not, and I did it to you so fair’s fair.”

James stiffened. “I wasn’t close to death.”

“Not the point. Go _home_. I mean it. And don’t cook on your own. Please.”

“All right.” James looked about to say something, but then waved good-bye and left.

Q slumped back on his pillows. Looked like he’d acquired a guard dog even if he didn’t want one.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As promised he was released the next morning after he’d managed to consume scrambled eggs on toast. Officially he was put on a week’s sick leave, though he didn’t tell his division he was planning to sneak in on Tuesday afternoon.

James was there at eight o’clock, and hovered impatiently until the doctors cleared Q to go home and rest. “Small, light meals, lots of fluids, no alcohol,” Doctor Hussein told him. James heard it too and Q expected to be looked after quite ferociously if James’s expression was anything to go by.

Getting back in a departmental car was a little nerve-wracking. “Do you know what happened to my driver from that night?” he asked his current chauffeur.

“Didn’t make it, sir.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is there a collection or anything for him?”

“Yes, sir. A donation would be appreciated. He had a wife and two boys.”

Q borrowed James’s phone and texted the car pool manager for details. He could transfer the money later. “Do we know when Sheila’s funeral will be held?” he asked James.

“Actually it was last Friday. Family only. They requested donations in her name to the Battersea Dog’s Home.”

“Oh.” Q didn’t know how he felt about that. He’d wanted to go but he’d also been dreading it. “Did you send one?”

“Yes. And one in your name too. I thought you’d want that.”

“Yes, of course. Was my laptop found?”

James smirked. “ _Bits_ of it were. Someone was unwise enough to try and break into it, and seems they got a surprise. I didn’t know they came with C-4 inside them these days.”

Nice to know _some_ of his secrets were safe. “Only the best ones do. Damn, I forgot to ask for a replacement.”

James patted his hand. “Already done. Phone and wallet cleaned, shoes...replaced.”

“Eve?”

“Eve. Who else?”

Q suspected a certain James Bond may have been behind it even if he didn’t do the actual replacing.

“Though you’re not supposed to do any work,” James said.

“I don’t plan to. My brain isn’t working particularly fast at the moment, and besides, I hear my people are more than up to the task.”

“There was a massive attack on the network the day after you were taken. Carin and Trevor fought it off. You've trained them well.”

“They’re very smart. Remind me to recommend they be put on a higher pay grade. No wait, let me have your phone again.”

James held it back from him. “No, it can wait. Or I’ll send a memo for you.”

“You make a ravishing secretary, Miss Bond.”

“A bit sexist of you, Q. I thought you were more modern than that.”

Q stuck his tongue out and sulked all the way back to the house, staring at the cold winter rain.

He was glad not to have to go back to work immediately whatever he protested. His joints still ached from being forced into the same position for a week, and his ankles and wrists were very sore indeed. “I still don’t get why they didn’t kill me outright?”

“Insurance. If they couldn’t break into Six, they could sell you to SPECTRE. I think our catching up with them so fast scared them off and they abandoned you. They didn’t plan to leave you there so long.”

“Oh well, that makes it all right then. Bastards.”

“Quite. Bed now.”

“How forward of you, James.” But he let himself be guided towards his bedroom, and he sunk onto his comfortable mattress with a blissful sigh.

James left and returned with a jug of orange juice and a glass. “If you don’t like this, I bought some other stuff.”

“No, that’s fine. You don’t have to look after me.”

“I do. Orders from the top.”

“Eve?”

“Exactly.”

“For today then. I’m not crippled. Just a bit tired.”

“We’ll see. Let me know if you want anything.”

Q showered and changed into pyjamas. He drank some juice and considered going to sleep. But he’d spent a week practically motionless, and he just didn’t want to do that any more. He poured another glass of orange juice and wandered out to the kitchen where James was cooking.

“Soup,” James said, as Q watched what he was doing.

“Good weather for it.”

He set his glass down and was surprised to see his hand was shaking. James covered it with his own. Q looked at him. “I don’t even know what’s wrong.”

“That’s why you need to take it easy.”

“You never did.”

“Double-ohs don’t have the luxury.”

Q nodded. When his hand stopped shaking, James removed his own and went on with his vegetable chopping as if nothing had happened.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” James asked after a bit. Q was still at the counter, staring at the movements of knife and hands.

“Does it help?”

“It can. Never went through anything exactly like that, but I know what it’s like to think you’re definitely going to die this time for real.”

Q moved a bit of broccoli that had escaped and James hadn’t noticed, back onto the board. “It wasn’t that, most of the time. Most of it was the pain and cold and not being able to move. I think I might be claustrophobic now.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. I’m not overly fond of swimming any more. Or dentists.”

Q had to think. “Being shot off the train and...Blofeld?”

“Yes. Pass me the candle?”

Q worked it out and handed James the saucepan. “I didn’t think you were allowed to have phobias.”

“We’re not allowed to let them stop us doing our job. Six doesn’t care how many pairs of underpants you ruin through shitting yourself.”

Q grinned at that. “I don’t think claustrophobia will hinder me in my work.”

James swept the vegetables into the pan and put it on the hob. Out of habit, Q quietly checked to see he’d turned the right gas ring on and that he had added oil as he meant to. “You don’t know when your brain will ambush you. Or let you down.”

“No. What were your plans for today?” James pointed the spatula at Q. “Right. Once I’m dealt with.”

“A walk, though it’s not very nice out there. Do you want company?”

“Yes. Pathetic, isn’t it? I could call my sister.”

“She’s working night shifts this week,” James said. “I called her yesterday when we found you.”

“Ah, thank you.” Q wandered around the living room. Everything looked different, even though it was the same. He sat on the couch and shivered. The flat was warm enough, but he felt cold.

“Here.” When had James moved so close? He draped a blanket around Q’s shoulders, then his arm. “Better?”

Q curled into the embrace, dying of embarrassment though he was. “Yes,” he whispered. “I don’t know why I feel cold.”

James tucked the blanket around him and filled up the gaps at Q’s other side with cushions. “Want more?”

“‘m fine.” He cuddled into James’s warmth, wondering why this was happening _now_ when he was safe and home?

James held him until he stopped shivering, and until Q feel asleep. At least Q assumed he had because when he woke, he was alone on the couch, wrapped in more blankets, and James was tending to the soup in the kitchen.

Q fought his way out of the wrappings and reached for the glasses on the side table. James came over. “Hungry?”

“Yes. You don’t have to....”

James held his hand up and went back into the kitchen. He returned with a tray holding a soup bowl and a plate with buttered bread on it.

“You shouldn’t carry—”

“I’m fine right now.” James walked slowly and carefully, and his path went past no obstacles, as if he had arranged it thus in advance. Which he probably had, knowing James. He set the tray on the coffee table. “Hope that’s okay.”

“It smells good.” Q picked up the bowl. Without asking, James sat next to him. Right next to him. Q leaned on him a little as he ate, not daring to ask why James was doing this, especially when Q had let him down when _he_ needed help.

He ate slowly as instructed. James stroked his hair and kept his arm around Q, but said nothing.

When Q was done, he turned and kissed James’s wrist. “What are you doing?”

“Looking after you.”

“And this?” He touched James’s hand in his hair.

“Petting the abandoned kitten.”

“Bastard.” But he smiled, and James didn’t stop, and Q didn’t want him to.

The rest of the day, Q alternated between wandering around, going upstairs to see if the upper rooms were still the same—they were—and cuddling on the couch with James, who didn’t seem to mind at all. He ate more soup, and some roast chicken James had bought, and drank a couple of litres of orange juice.

His body felt normal, except for being cold a lot of the time. His brain kept switching between fuzzy and almost too sharp. He didn’t want to even open his laptop, afraid of what he might find. Opening his phone and seeing the worried messages from people like his sister was enough. He sent her an email to let he know he was fine and in good health, and for her not to worry any more.

Though he suspected he might not be quite as ‘fine’ as he thought he was.

“I’m going into work tomorrow. Just the afternoon. I asked Eve to buy cake. It’s a surprise.”

“Good idea.”

“You’re not going to argue?”

“Nurse, not nanny. Eat cake, it’s good for you.”

“Yes, Mum.”

They watched TV together, movies that James liked and Q didn’t care enough to argue with. James had a varied taste with a preference for the ridiculous. Mr Bean had them both laughing, and a French film James had hired seemed to appeal to him for the slapstick value.

“You like prat falls?” Q asked as James loaded up another movie.

“I like seeing people creating chaos through perfect control. Those actors aren’t really that clumsy.”

“I never looked at it like that before.”

“It’s an art. Sadly it’s out of fashion. You can learn a lot watching Buster Keaton.”

“More your generation than mine, I’d say.”

“Get off my lawn, kid.”

Q just cuddled closer and grinned.

By eight he was done in, despite multiple naps. “Want company?” James asked when Q announced he was heading to bed.

“I’m all right, thank you.”

“Should I leave the television on?”

“No, it’s fine. I know where I am. Stop worrying about me.”

“Good night then. I’ll sit up for a little bit.”

Q nodded and went to the bathroom, then to bed. The faint sounds of the TV were soothing, despite what he’d said, but the house was hardly silent or completely dark. Cocooned in his blankets, he felt safe and warm and everything he hadn’t been in that bloody shipping container.

After a bit the TV went off, and he heard the sounds of James preparing for bed. The house lights went off, except for one in James’s room which Q could see because both bedrooms’ doors were open. Then that light went off too, and there were soft footsteps near his door.

“Spencer?”

Q turned on his bedside light. “James, are you all right?”

“Mind if I come in?”

Once that would have been a dangerous request. Now Q thought nothing of it. “Of course. Is something wrong?”

“No, I just want to talk.” James sat on the end of the bed. “Feeling all right?”

“Yes. Thank you for today. I feel much more settled.”

“You’re welcome but...um...I didn’t do it for you. Not entirely.”

“It doesn’t matter why you did it. I’m enjoying how I feel right now.”

“That’s what I wanted. I wanted you to feel good. But...I wanted it too.” James looked away, as if embarrassed. “No one touches me any more. Only you and Eve.”

“Come here,” Q said, opening the blankets up to let James in. James slid in beside him. “I didn’t realise. I never thought you would want me to...I mean....”

“After I did everything I could to make you feel two inches high?”

“That, yes. But I want...I like you touching me. I like you stroking my hair and holding me. I like you, James.”

“I still don’t know how you can.”

“I don’t know how _you_ can. And yet, here we are.”

James got Q settled in his arms, and kissed his forehead. “I don’t want sex.”

Oh well. Disappointing, but hardly surprising. “That’s all right.”

“Not tonight, at least.”

 _Ah_. “I don’t want sex at all,” Q said.

“Oh.”

“I want to make love to you, and you to make love to me. When we’re ready.”

He felt James’s smile against his cheek. “I’d like that.”

“I knew you would be the one to find me. I knew you would never stop, no matter how long it took.”

“No, I wouldn’t. None of them would.”

“Yes, but you would have ended those bastards. That’s the difference.”

“If it took me a lifetime.” James nuzzled against Q’s ear. “Think you’ll sleep?”

“Stay?”

“You never need to ask.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Q went to Medical on Tuesday afternoon and demonstrated that he was, in fact, pretty fit and could work. Doctor Hussein reluctantly reduced his leave certificate to end on Thursday. “We can extend it any time you want, Q. Please do not work on the weekend.”

“I won’t.”

“He really won’t.”

Q glared at James, and the doctor rolled his eyes. “Forgive me, 007, but you’re not known for your own restraint in these matters.”

“In this matter, I’m very restrained.”

“Uh huh.”

James didn’t look too offended by Q’s scepticism.

The doctor sighed and handed Q a new certificate. “Do stay out of trouble.”

“He must be talking about you,” James said as they walked to Q-Branch. “I’m no trouble at all.”

“You better take the stairs, James. Your nose will never fit in a lift.”

James grinned.

Q-Branch was very glad to see their boss, and for those who hadn’t had a chance to visit him in Medical, it was time for them to express their feelings over the whole thing. Q sat and let them talk. James stood to one side, watching, listening. Occasionally Q would look over to him and tell him with his expression that he was fine, could cope, and James would nod.

Eve arrived at four o’clock with the cake and Tanner behind her, had a tea urn, bless the man. They were mobbed by a bunch of elated, overworked and cake-demanding geeks, and at least five double-ohs who had mysteriously appeared from nowhere. James purloined a piece for himself and for Q. “Okay?” James asked.

“I’m fine. I feel a fraud not staying.”

“Give it until Thursday. You’ll do better for it.”

“I...have a letter...on my desk. For Sheila’s parents.”

“I took it home. We’ll work on it for tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Q said, touching James’s arm.

When everyone had their cake and tea, Q stood and tapped his mug. “Your attention for a moment, everyone. I want to thank you all for saving my life, obviously. But I also want to thank you for the work you did for Sheila. I’m sure her family will appreciate that you brought her killer to book. Several senior staff have been at pains to point out the excellence of your efforts, and I’ll do my best to see they’re rewarded. We haven’t won the war, though. What you’ve done over the last two weeks is wonderful training and experience, but we still have battles to fight and win. So, onward and upward, Q-Branch.” He lifted his mug.

“Hear, hear,” Tanner said. Mallory had appeared from behind him. People fell quiet when they saw him. “Sir, did you want to say something?”

M nodded at Tanner, then at Q. “I don’t want to impose on your time, ladies and gentlemen, but I second everything Q said. If we had lost you, Q, it would have been a bitter, bitter blow, just as it was when 007 was forced through honourable injuries to retire hurt.” James stood rigid, staring straight ahead. Q put his hand on James’s arm and kept it there. “But as you all proved, we can work through such losses if we have to, as we have in the past, and sometimes, as we have with 007, we can turn them to our advantage. So don’t stop learning or inventing, Q-Branch. It’s how you’ll survive.”

“Hear, hear,” James said. Q impulsively kissed him on the lips, and Q-Branch erupted in laughter and wolf whistles.

“Secret’s out,” James said against Q’s lips.

“Good.”

As Q set James free, he saw Tanner handed Eve twenty quid. “Q, 007, do see me afterwards to fill in the necessary paperwork.”

James grinned at Tanner. “Yes, sir.”

Eve came over and kissed the two of them on the cheek. “Be happy, my darlings. You deserve it.”

“Thank you, dear Eve. You’re the best friend a boy could have.”

“Hear, hear,” James said quietly.

Eve patted James’s hand. “You two aren’t so bad either. Now let me have some cake.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Q’s phone sent him an alert as he and James walked down to the carpool. “Oh, Mel’s at the house.”

“She mentioned she had a gift for you, and was dropping it off before she went to work.”

“ _When_ did she mention this?”

“She emailed me this morning.”

“Right. You didn’t tell me.”

“I think she wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises,” Q muttered.

“It’s your _sister_ , Spencer.”

“Those are the worst ones.”

James ruffled his hair. “Don’t be a square.”

“Whatever you say, daddy-o.”

Q got another alert a few minutes later to say his sister had left the house. “I need to catch up with her. I miss my cats,” he added with a deep sigh.

“I know,” James said quietly.

When they arrived, James opened the door for Q, and let him in. As Q hung his coat up, he heard a familiar “Mroawl?” and two cats came running up to him.

“Effie? Tansy? How did you get here?” He scooped Effie up. “What the hell?”

He turned around to find James grinning from ear to ear. “You did this?”

“With your sister’s help. There’s no need for you to not have them around now I’m here too, is there? She said they miss you.”

“And I miss them. Oh God, James.” His eyes filled with tears as he cuddled his precious cats. “I can’t believe they’re back.”

“I’ve put the litter tray in the back bedroom upstairs. Hope that’s all right.”

“Perfect. I think I love you.”

James leaned in for a kiss, and to scritch Effie’s head. “That makes two of us then.”

“You’re not ever leaving now, you realise. You’re stuck with the three of us.” Q handed him Effie so he could pick up Tansy for equal time affection.

James tugged him gently towards the living room. “No, not ever leaving.”

Q sat on the couch, and the cats climbed into his lap. “I’m so happy now. You’ve been so kind to me, thank you.”

James kissed him on the lips. Q sighed with pleasure. “You’re welcome. After all, that’s what friends are for.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, criticism and corrections very much welcome!


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